Thank you, God, for everything.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own How To Train Your Dragon. Here's another chapter to add on to their story. Here's to reading about some bad-ass dragons and kick butt Vikings! (Listening to This is War by Thirty Seconds to Mars. It's inspirational and helps while typing, not to mention it's an awesome song!) On to the story!

Young Stoick the Vast, soon to be chief of the Hairy Hooligans and master dragon slayer was in bed, snoring. His helmet, a dingy grey with traces of dirt streaked across it from years of usage, was sitting lopsidedly on his bed post. He lay on his back, his thin blanket slowly raising and falling in psych with his breathing. It was still warm out, and all the wool blankets that his mom kept were stored away for real cold and wintery nights.

One arm across his chest, the other falling out of the too small frame, he snored softly and let out a small hiccup in his sleep. From the looks of him, he looked content and quiet. But right outside his house, things were starting to turn ugly.

One of the lookouts positioned on one of the large hills Berk boasted was standing tall, holding up his lit torch. His eyes darted about the sky; he was ready to alert the village at any point it needed to be.

Like now, for instance.

The lookout noticed a slight movement in the skies. He squinted and moved the torch closer for a better look. His eyes went wide and he ducked immediately. A Deadly Nadder let out a mighty roar, angry at seeing the Viking duck, and let out a fiery burst of flame. The fire flew over the man's hand, scorching his helmet, and it fell on the ground behind him, making the hill start to catch on fire.

The Nadder swooped higher in the air, making the lookout scowl as he hastily grabbed a bucket of water he kept on hand and quickly doused the fire. With great quickness, he withdrew his warning horn kept on him and quickly let out a great blast.

The great noise of the horn floated out into the village. It resounded, loud and angry and fierce, like the long and dangerous howl of a gold-eyed wolf. The alert provoked the Vikings out of their beds.

Within ten seconds of hearing the alarm, Stoick gasped/grunted hurriedly and sat up straight, and foolishly hit the rafters extending down into his bed. Being six foot nine had its disadvantages, Stoick thought to himself as he rubbed his forehead and reached for his helmet. Helmets were very symbolic of Vikings. They were needed in battle.

He stood up and as quickly as he could, grabbed his big and bulky hammer that was located under his window. He looked up to see his neighbor's house on fire.

A particular fire glowed in Stoick's eyes as he straightened. No dragon was going to destroy his village.

He leapt over his bed and ran down through the house. He yanked the front door open and let out a long and guttural war cry, filled with ear piercing qualities that could instill fear into the hearts of many dragons.

Stoick tore out of the house like a lightening bolt and gave the village a quick scan before sprinting into action. All the buildings to his right and on down to the dock had at least one Viking on top of his roof, yelling at the top of his lungs and laying the beat down on a dragon.

Terrible Terrors were swooping down on the villagers, letting out little sparks of fire right at their pink and unprotected faces. They'd get right down into your face and before you can react enough to swat them, they'd spit and grow in altitude, chuckling gloatingly to themselves as they went to find their next victim.

On the left side of the village, Zipplebacks were crashing through doors and lighting the furnishings inside. Stoick knew that he was supposed to be on water duty, putting out all the little petty fires before they grew into deadly ones, but he thought for a second and decided that he might as well try to stop one of the beasts. With another blood curdling yell, he raced down to the houses.

Plowing through a crowd of Vikings, all bearing dangerous weapons and all going Berserk, Stoick somersaulted and landed right next to the left side of a Zippleback. His presence caused the heads to both slither out of the house and straighten to get a good look at him, turning its body to match up with the heads. The left head's eyes twinkled as he smiled deviously to the right head. The right head nodded and from what Stoick could tell, raised and lowered his eyebrows in amusement. The two heads turned to Stoick in psych, one letting sparks trickle out of his mouth in anticipation.

Stoick wasn't about to let himself get fried, however. As they both started to foam with their respective weapon, he charged up to them, sweat pouring down his face and nearly blocking his vision, (it was so damn warm with all the dragons breathing their hot flame), and smacked it in the chest where he knew its heart was located.

The Zippleback backed away in shock, obviously trying to come to terms with the pain emitting from its torso. The two heads snarled loudly and both moved simultaneously toward Stoick, who had jumped on their back and started to smack them as hard as he could. His head was bent low, watching and making sure he smacked them hard, not noticing their gas and spark growing larger and larger.

The teen looked up only when he heard a malicious cackle, the cackle of the spark about to zoom out of one of their mouths. He could barely blink before a stream of spark and fog of gas came right at him. It was at that moment that the Chief grabbed the back of his shirt and somehow managed to pull the heavy teen out of its way.

Stoick fell to the ground in shock, partly from the fact of his father's swiftness and partly from the fact that he was about to be fried Haddock. Only a minute later did the initial shock desert him enough to watch, amazed and mouth gaping, as Liam the Mighty, axe heaving and mouth roaring a horrific battle cry, went and attacked the Zippleback. It only took a few swings of his axe to make the dragon whimper and start to flap its wings before heading toward the sky, crying painfully.

Liam breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment before bending down on one knee, softly muttering under his breath. Stoick was still breathing heavily and his intake of breath only quickened when his father turned to him and roared angrily, "What in Hel's name was that, Stoick? Ya are supposed ta do water duty! Good water and land, YA DON'T KNOW HOW TO KILL DRAGONS! HAVE YA NEVER LISTENED TO ME WHEN I TRY TO TELL YA THINGS?"

Stoick only gulped as he stood up and straightened. Even though his father was only six foot five, just standing in front of him and listening to his annoyed voice made Stoick incredibly sobered.

"Honestly, Stoick, a Viking must learn how to fight before ya fight!" Liam added, anger flashing in his fiery blue eyes. He paced a few feet, turning around and coming back around, having gone silent. Even the fight and battle of Berserk Vikings and fire breathing dragons had disappeared as Stoick stood there, perfectly miserable inside.

Liam finally managed to subdue himself enough to say, "Stoick, I'll discuss your punishment wit' ya later." He stopped to stare at the teen, "Now, get ta water duty."

Stoick nodded and ran toward the water supply as quickly as his thick legs could carry him. He ducked and dodged Berserk Vikings and managed to keep himself from getting scorched by the Nadders that were taking off with a sheep in each of their talons.

His legs started to ache as he ran up to the water trough. Stonebone was using a wooden bucket to fill the large barrels that Hilda secured lids on. The hefty girl easily heaved one of the huge barrels, (leaving a struggling Huffnut on the other end, for Hilda had raised the barrel so high she couldn't reach it), cracking her back in the process, and slipped it into position onto wheels.

Stoick paused and saw Buffnut, Gobber, Phlegma and Spitelout fighting a fire that was taking a house a few yards away. Stoick immediately grabbed the rough ropes attached to the recently filled water barrel and started to pull it toward them.

Buffnut was just emptying the barrel as Stoick pulled up, small flames and papery flakes lining his clothing. Gobber grinned a bit as he poured the little water he had in his bucket over his friend's head, creating a mighty splash over his head.

"Aboot time ya showed up," he remarked. Stoick sighed at his friend. The last thing he needed at the moment was a bucket of sopping warm water poured over his head and his best friend remarking that he was late.

"Thanks, I needed that," Stoick told him as he prepared to take the empty water barrel back.

"Where did ya go anyway? I didn't see ya leave the house," Spitelout said as he put out a fire with his helmet (Buffnut was taking his turn getting the water from the barrel and Phlegma was watching impatiently).

Stoick really, really didn't want to inform his friends and little brother about his rash thinking about taking on a Zippleback at the age of fifteen, being saved from a fiery death from his father, who in turn roared at his idiotness.

"Nothing, I'll tell ya later," Stoick finally said as he pulled the empty water barrel back to the water supply. He had barely pulled it back, Spitelout barely missing a chance to say that his brother's head got burnt off by a Gronckle, when Stonebone pointed to another water barrel for him to take.

"I just gave 'em one," Stoick gasped. Surely not the four of them went through a barrel of water so quickly?

"It's for Vall," Stonebone stated quickly, his hands moving faster and faster as the cries of a triumphant Monstrous Nightmare filled the air, "she's down by the fields."

Stoick looked a bit astonished. "By herself?"

Stonebone looked at him like he had said that dragons were trustworthy. "Yessss."

Stoick looked at him only a second before taking the water barrel. Geez, he thought as he made his way down the streets, (fire-covered wood falling from familiar houses all around him), I never remembered Vall having an entire barrel to herself before.

But her skill and quickness left him amazed and somewhat proud of her. When he finally reached the burnt, grass-covered fields, he saw a sheep being taken into the air by a Zippleback, who was quickly attacked by a Viking. The Zippleback was infuriated by the fact that there was a loud human trying to bite his legs and squirted him with fire. The Viking's hands and arms were instantly caught afire and he fell down a good fifteen feet.

Stoick caught Vall's eye for a second as she bounded toward him. She had a certain glimmer in her eye, full of Vikingness and determination. That glint was also a sign that she had gone Berserk.

Vall smirked slightly as she filled her bucket with the water from the barrel. Stoick watched her for a second before ducking to avoid a Nadder that was flying painfully close to the ground.

Standing up straight, she gave him a quick look of gratitude and yelled over her shoulder as she raced back to the burnt Viking, "Thanks, Chief!"

It was nice when someone understands your rank around here, Stoick couldn't help but think as he noticed a spare bucket. He might as well help down here. He grasped the handle and pulled it under the spout. Pulling out the stopper, he watched the water pour into the bucket.

Once it was full, Stoick grabbed the handle and turned. He saw Vall dousing the fire-covered Viking with water and yelling at him, "Shake it t'off and get back ta work!" Normally in such circumstances, Vall would have gotten reprimanded by speaking to older Vikings like that, but as this was a battle field and her eyes were growing wild, it was best not to argue.

Stoick ran to the next burnt victim and the two teens gave each other a slight nod as they passed each other. They continued to rush back and forth between the barrel and the burning Vikings. Dragons were congregating by the fields where the sheep were trying to eat their cud. The monsters would swoop down and grasp their wooly hides with their sharp talons and would try to fly off to who knows where, that is, if a Viking didn't attack them first.

The Gronckles were closing in on the sheep; more Vikings showed up. More Vikings meant more burnt Vikings. Within a span of just a few minutes, the water barrel was nearly gone.

"Stoick!" Vall yelled as she doused her father with a bucket of water, "GO GET MORE OF DA BLOODY WATER!"

Stoick nodded and without a word, ran off to the water supply. His heart pounded as a Monstrous Nightmare, body all aflame, nearly beheaded him. A myriad of Vikings charged after it, for it was holding three sheep in his claws, one of which baaaed monotonely.

Stoick, keeping a firm hand on his helmet, arrived at the water supply. Stonebone was busy filling the water barrels and Hilda and Huffnut were still arguing, but they had been joined by Buffnut and Spitelout and Phlegma, who were all dipping their buckets back into the pond which was surrounded by stone fences.

"Where's Gobber?" Stoick wondered as he plopped the lid onto the water barrel.

"Blubber came by and dragged him off, sayin' it twas a good time for the first time," Spitelout explained.

The whole group hissed and ducked, hands over their heads, as a building nearby caved in.

"That's the next one we're gettin'," Phlegma commanded as she punched Buffnut, signaling him to help her drag a water barrel over there.

Stoick had no time to help them; he had to get this water barrel to Vall. He grabbed the ropes, dug his feet deep into the ground (his legs were starting to get just a little bit tired) and pulled. He was quickly able to make it to a hill which he could quickly descend, but before he could start the barrel moving, Wrinkly, Vall's father, put a firm foot down as his scrawny and burnt but strong hand clapped down on the barrel, holding it down from going any further.

"That's enough, son," Wrinkly commanded. Stoick looked at him with a look mixed with confusion and annoyance. Wrinkly pointed all around the village. Stoick saw that the dragons were all retreating, but not without their share of livestock. They clutched cows and pigs in their sharp talons, creating cages from which they could not escape. Terrible Terrors had chickens' heads in their mouths, their bodies still squirming and trying to break free.

All the Vikings in Berk were watching them as they flew away, slightly victorious in their haul, but only slightly. Bodies of a few Gronckles, multiple Terrible Terrors and one or two Deadly Nadders littered the ground, their blood dotting and flowing into the streets.

Stoick let go of the ropes and watched as all the other Vikings joined him and Wrinkly in the square. All of them were dirty, charred and had little speckles of blood scattered about their smelly clothing, which all stunk like smoke. The village healer, a woman by the name of Livger, wasn't present, for a fair amount of Vikings had already been brought to her hut for treatment of their injuries.

The crowd was talking animatedly about themselves, discussing how many there was and how much damage they had amassed. Their talking was instantly extinguished, however, when the Chief walked solemnly into the great, lopsided circle of Vikings.

His face was extremely sober and sweaty and his hands would need to be treated for burns. Stoick loudly cringed in practice for when his father's hands would get treated and ointmented at the table each day. Liam Haddock didn't exactly keep quiet when he was receiving painful medicine.

"Vell, e'veryone, we're not exactly sure how many sheep and assorted livestock had been taken. I'll be sure to get an exact account later today," Liam stated, almost on the verge of yawning. The sun was just starting to illuminate the skies above them. Normally, Vikings enjoyed their wondrous pink and orange cloud streaked sun ups and sun downs, but at the moment, the impact of what they had done that night was hitting them like a boulder, and now several Vikings (including practically all the teens, except Vall and Phlegma), yawned loudly.

"Nobody was killed or seriously injured, which is good, but," Liam announced as he surveyed the tired and vexed-at-dragons Vikings, "I'm calling an emergency meeting at Mead Hall."

Several gasps were heard throughout the village.

"It'll be in a couple of hours. Meantime, start to rebuild the houses, and try to get a bit 'o sleep," Liam finished. The Vikings stood there for a moment, talking quietly amongst themselves before shrugging (in true Viking fashion, shrugging is a way of accepting things like this) and started to walk slowly to their houses. The only Vikings remaining were Liam, Spitelout and Stoick.

The two boys stood there, watching their father for a moment. Spitelout hadn't even done anything wrong and yet he was still there, greatly fearing his father.

Liam looked at them through squinted eyes for a moment before saying in a don't-you-DARE-talk-back voice, "Come on, we're going home." He turned to leave and the teens started to follow, but they immediately stopped as Liam turned back, surveying their faces. He pointed an accusing finger at Stoick, saying, "Your mother is goin' ta hear aboot this."

Stoick only nodded and sighed, knowing that his father wouldn't have let this go.

The three silently made their way over to the large hill where the Chief's house was situated on. Father and sons looked up as they slowly traversed up the uneven stone steps, bones hurting mightily as they walked, to see Stoick's mother on the roof, beating out a flame with her helmet.

The banging on the roof and the Chief's wife's excited grunting filled the house even though they had closed the door as they entered. Stoick smelt the air and wrinkled his nose. It became apparent that a dragon, most likely a nimble Terror, had gotten into the house and scorched the table. It lay charred and in a great stack of pieces, completely and utterly broken.

The three men stood there for a moment before their mother and wife burst into the house; Ingrid Haddock, large boned and with twice the lot of bushy hair that the other women had. Her metallic armor over her rough shirt and skirt were covered in soot and ash and her bushy hair was sticking up all over the place from being around so much static electricity. Still, her mood could not be tarnished; she had killed two dragons before sunrise and to her, that was a good way to start the day.

"'Mornin' Liam, boys," she said brightly as she kissed Liam on the cheek and punched each son in the arm, a Viking mother's version of a bear hug.

The three stood there for a moment, watching her as she bustled about, "And, how did things go? Did we lose a-many animals?"

Liam pulled out a large chair from the pile of rubble that was the table and sat down. Spitelout gave Stoick a nervous pat on the back before turning and running up the stairs, tripping over his own feet in his haste. Stoick sighed and listened to his brother's grunts before he finally disappeared upstairs, leaving him all alone with his parents.

Joy.

"Ingrid, there is somethin' that your son wants to tell you," Liam said in his large voice which filled the room. Ingrid stopped chatting and turned, hands on her hips with one hand holding onto a frying pan, to her oldest son, eyes gone from cheery to clearly vexed. Stoick gulped as her eyes squinted and she whispered in a strained voice, "What happened, Stoick?"

Stoick's feet began to slightly shift for a moment, but for only a moment. He was a Viking, and Vikings weren't scared of anyone, even their own parents. Especially their own parents.

"I went after a Zippleback," he said firmly.

"And almost got himself killed, he wasn't using his head!" Liam yelled, his voice echoing in the large room.

Ingrid's eyes nearly popped out of her eyes with anger. "Stoick, you stupid teen! Water duty, water duty!" She yelled, punched her hand with her frying pan in emphasis. "YOU'RE BLOODY FIFTEEN!"

"And I'm old enough to make sure I don't get killed by dragons, I WAS FINE!" Stoick said determinedly.

"Ya weren't fine if ya were nearly killed!" Ingrid yelled.

"I was not going to get myself killed, that was the last thing I wanted to do!" Stoick tried to explain. Ingrid would have none of it.

"So ya think you're not goin' to get killed if ya go and attack a Zippleback? That was stupid and bull-headed, Stoick! Ya were supposed to go help fight the fires and ya attack a dragon with no trainin'! Were ya tryin' ta be a hero?" Ingrid wondered, her face gone completely red.

"No, I wasn't, I was TRYIN' to help the village!" Stoick boomed.

"'Cause I think gettin' yourself killed is not really helpin' the village all that much!" Ingrid shouted. "Why can't ya be like Spitelout, at least he can follow orders!"

Stoick's blood boiled. No way was Spitelout a better order follower than he. Wasn't it Spitelout who never got around to helpin' repair the village houses after a raid, who always had to be told to do things at least twice? "Mom, I disobeyed ONE order, ONE BLOODY ORDER, and I'm bein' compared ta Spitelout? Good grief, if he's such a better order follower than me, make him chief, because apparently all I do is whatever the heck I want on whatever whim I'm doin'!"

Ingrid stepped forward and looked into his eyes. It was a hard thing to do, considering she was only five foot eight, but she was doing a pretty good job.

"Don't you DARE talk to me that way, Stoick! I am your mother, if ya haven't noticed!" That made Stoick stop talking, but it didn't stop making him boil on the inside.

Ingrid looked him over for a moment before saying in her accented voice, "And remember that." She turned and headed back to the stove, anger emitting off her like the sun. Stoick exhaled and trudged back up to his room, leaving a fuming Ingrid to tend to her husband's burns.

The two brothers didn't share rooms, though they were both very small rooms and they would have been two rooms if there wasn't a thin wall separating them. Whilst the brothers got along with each other (most of the time, boys can't get along together ALL the time), they both liked having their own room. Still, the wall was thin, and they were able to talk through it to each other.

However, at the present time, there had just been a raid and a yelling and Stoick really didn't feel like talking to his brother. Spitelout seemed to feel the same way, for when Stoick sank down onto his bed, he could hear his brother's snores coming from his room. Stoick grunted and seized his pillow and covered his head to try to block out his noise.

Stoick was content to lay on his bed forever, but when he heard his mother holler, "BREAKFAST!", his stomach and conscience overpowered his will and he went and punched Spitelout to wake him up. The younger of the brothers choked on his own spit as he sat up and punched his chest to get breath down his gullet.

"Breakfast," Stoick said soberly as he left the room. Spitelout nodded and went after him. The two carefully made their way down the stairs, Spitelout almost hiding behind his brother's large and now welcome back.

Ingrid was busy scooping a blob of porridge into two large bowls. Two slightly emptied bowls lined the counter and Liam was nowhere in sight. He probably scarfed down breakfast like an unpleasant medicine and hopped out the door to survey the damage and take inventory.

Seeing as the table was burnt to pieces the boys held their bowls with their hands as they sat in their chairs and ate.

Ingrid was still fuming, Stoick could tell, but she made an effort to keep her voice firm and steady as she said, "Once you're both done, Spitelout, build a new table. Stoick, go outside and find your father. He found a punishment for you."

Stoick stopped eating. Wait, after all that yelling he was going to be punished? He wasn't a child anymore, he was fifteen. What kind of punishment would he be getting?

This information made him eat slower and he looked longingly at his bowl as he gave it to his mom to wash. He sighed and headed outside. Might as well take his punishment.

Once he was down the stone steps leading to his home, he looked around the village. The sun had finally fully risen over the town, showing off the little shadows of the houses. No, actually, upon closer inspection, the shadows was instead burnt wood. Stoick watched as Vikings tore off the burnt wood that crumbled beneath their fingers and started to hammer on new boards.

Stoick sighed once again and decided to head toward the fields. His father was probably taking inventory of the sheep. It was just barely September but Vikings had to plan ahead, at least, they did when food was involved.

He carefully made his way to the fields, stepping over fallen buildings and avoiding little children. The little tykes were constantly running around with little wooden swords and small shields, constantly sneaking about and attacking people's tree trunk legs. Their little efforts to kill you didn't even hurt; their fighting was more annoying than anything.

Stoick made his way down to the grassy hill, which was sporting great patches of burnt foliage. Vikings were trying to build a gate that would surround the sheep. Stoick really saw no point in that. Maybe they were hoping that since the dragons had carried off lots of them, that the remaining sheep wouldn't run off like they did occasionally.

By the time he found himself surrounded by wooly sheep, the pen was built and the Viking men were starting to grab the sheep by their coats and toss them into the pen, where they landed with a BA!

Stoick spotted Liam amongst the men, talking loudly and flinging sheep left and right. He seemed to not notice his son approaching him until a Viking, Breaknose, grunted and pointed to the red-haired teen. This caused all the Vikings to stare at him, making Stoick feel uncomfortable.

Liam nodded slowly and walked over to his son, flinging sheep over his shoulder. Once he was past them, he placed a hand on Stoick's shoulder and sighed softly.

"Come on," he said gruffly, "I have something to show you."

WHAT COULD STOICK'S PUNISHMENT BE? WILL SPITELOUT BUILD THE TABLE? ARE THE FLYING SHEEP HARMED? Yeah, lame...things. The flinging sheep was inspired by the deleted scene from GOTNF. It just seemed hilarious for them to just throw sheep over their shoulders. And great, big dragon battling scene! And other teen stuffy stuff.

ANNNNDDDDD, that's the update for this month. I'm thinking, I want Stoick to be Hiccup's age 'cause he's going to be in dragon training, but he must have been some freaking HUGE fifteen year old, even taller than Snotlout!

Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please, leave a review! May the force be with you.