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Chapter Text

Their ride back to Berk was silent.

Stoick held his boy in his arms, still so small as though he were a babe. His hair was tussled, knotted, and Stoick’s large fingers slowly worked through the tangles. He waited, breathless, for his son to suddenly wake up. Suddenly gasp into life and laugh. He would smile and stutter through some sarcastic joke and Stoick would - 

But it didn’t matter now, what Stoick would do. All that mattered was what he had done, what he had said, all the things he couldn’t take back.

“Stoick,” Gobber said, his voice distant as though Stoick’s head were underwater, “We’re here.”

Stoick’s heart hammered, his arms tightening around the still figure in his arms. Acid burned the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes, but he held it all back. He was still a Chief, a leader, a Viking.

(He was a father. Or he had been.)

“Make preparations,” he ordered, his voice gruff with grief he didn’t know how to express.

Something hollow ate at him, a pit in his stomach that seemed to widen with every step he took, getting out of the boat. The crowd parted for him, quiet sobs and low murmurs following him. He didn’t know how he made it off the ship, with every sway feeling like it would make him topple over, but he did. Because he was Stoick the Vast, a mountain of a man, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.

(Stubborn. So stubborn, and Hiccup got that from him - had gotten that from him - and if only Stoick had been less stubborn - )

Time passed in fragments. Someone patted his shoulder, someone else gave him water. He paid none of it any attention, his eyes only on the boy in his arms.

He looked so peaceful. As though he were sleeping. He hadn’t looked this calm in a long time.

( You are not my son , Stoick had said, spat venom like it didn’t burn him too. Why had he said it? He couldn’t remember now - he could only remember the way Hiccup flinched, the way he stared up at him with those wide, kind eyes, full of hurt now. Why had he said it? And why couldn’t he take it back?)

They set Hiccup adrift in a boat made especially for the heir to a Chief. Stoick didn’t know where it came from, only that it was there now. Only that it was time to say goodbye. He lay his son down gently, more gently than he’d ever treated him in life.

Stoick felt something break then. Something loose finally coming apart - something unwinding like a vicious snake. It was more than he could handle.

But he handled it, because he was Stoick the Vast, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.

He lit the arrow, and it flew true. A Viking funeral, for a boy who had been more Viking than all of them. He would take his place among warriors in Valhalla, where even Odin would sing his praises. Of that, everyone was certain.

Distantly, he registered Gobber’s words. He heard more than saw all of Berk follow his lead, sending arrows flying. Everything had a haze to it, like a fog swallowing his senses. Only one thing was clear.

The shrill cry of a dragon, roaring in the air in a mournful tune that ripped Stoick’s heart out and laid it bare.

—

“His name is Toothless,” Astrid informed him, her voice raw.

Of all those that knew Hiccup, other than Gobber and Stoick, he was the one who was grieving him the most. In his last days, she explained, they had been friends.

Stoick stared at the girl in front of him, bags under her eyes as she looked everywhere but at him.

“The dragon’s name. It’s Toothless.”

Dully, Stoick’s mind made sense of the words. The dragon had been prowling the nights, it narrowed its eyes watching Stoick. No one had dared say anything against it. Sometimes, when Stoick passed it on the way to his duties, he could hear it rumble lowly, a sound he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“I see,” Stoick said, in lieu of anything else.

“He is,” Astrid’s eyes teared up, “He was Hiccup’s best friend.”

Stoick ran gentle circles on her back as she choked on sobs. They were sitting in Stoick’s house - Astrid having come to talk to him about what would happen to the dragons, now that they were free. She had asked for her blessing in training them, she and Fishlegs both.

(This was a conversation he should’ve had with Hiccup. His brilliant boy, who had seen what no one else had. His clever child, who had risked everything to protect an Isle that gave nothing back. His Hiccup .)

Stoick swallowed, “I see,” he said again.

“Sir, I think - I think you should talk to him.”

“Whom?”

“Toothless.”

“Oh.”

Stoick swallowed anger, hating how his instinct told him to fight . Hiccup loved that dragon. Stoick would respect that. Even if a part of him wanted to blame the dragon for all of this. What did it matter that Berk burned every other week, if it meant Hiccup was safe .

(But he knew who was to blame. And by Thor’s beard it wasn’t that dragon. The last creature to blame was that dragon, who brought Hiccup back to him, who tried its damn hardest, when all Stoick had ever done was - )

“I’ll think about it,” he promised, even though he wouldn’t.

He walked past that dragon, the next day, its green eyes watching his every move. Almost as though it was waiting to strike - judging him.

Stoick paused, turning to the beast. He couldn’t figure out how to feel, the mess inside him trying to break free only to have Stoick clamp down. He didn’t have time to think now. Didn’t have time to grieve. Berk needed him.

(When had he ever had time for Hiccup. Why hadn’t he made more time .)

Stoick swallowed something in his throat as the dragon raised his head to … to what? Greet him? Chase him away. 

(What would Hiccup do? He would know what to do. Hiccup had been so smart. Too smart.)

The dragon watched him. Stoick wondered what it saw in him.

He wondered what Hiccup had seen in that dragon.

—

“Stoick,” Gobber tried.

“And I want the northern docks repaired - “

“ Stoick .”

Stoick sighed, “Yes, Gobber.”

“Go home.”

Stoick stared at him, startled, “What?”

“Go home,” Gobber said, his face tired. He looked like he had aged decades, in the two days they’d been back from - “You need to take a break. Have you even slept since - “

“I don’t need a break.”

“There’s that stubbornness in ya,” a ghost of a smile touched Gobber’s lips. It disappeared just as quickly, “Please, Chief. Let us handle it for now.”

Stoick heaved a sigh, not being able to deny the fatigue that had made its home in his bones. But he looked at Gobber, stern.

“This is hard on you too, Gobber. Don’t pretend it isn’t.”

Gobber gulped, looking away, “I wasn’t his father.”

“You were a better father than I was,” Stoick said bitterly, “He loved you. You understood him better than anyone.”

“I didn’t understand enough.”

No one did. Hiccup had always been different. Understanding him had always been difficult. It had taken a dragon to do so.

Something turned in Stoick’s stomach. He told himself to hold on a little while longer. To not break here, where everyone could see. He was Stoick the Vast, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.

“Come - come by for ale sometime,” Stoick said, “Hiccup left behind a lot of projects I can’t make sense of. He’d want you to - to have them.”

Gobber nodded, clapping Stoick’s shoulder. He didn’t mention the stutter in Stoick’s voice, so Stoick didn’t mention how his eyes were glassing over with unshed tears.

—

Between every sip of beer he took, he prayed to the Gods to take him and give his son back instead. It was futile, because it was the same thing he had done when Valka was taken, and he knew it didn’t work, but he didn’t stop him from trying.

Hiccup used to bring him his nightly drink, when he had been just old enough to carry the large mug in his hands. He’d sit on Stoick’s lap and listen to the man’s stories about being Chief and fighting dragons. But Hiccup started to grow up, and their nightly talks became less and less frequent, until it stopped all together.

Would all of this have changed, if they still had their nightly rituals? Would Hiccup still be alive?

Stoick shook his head miserably, getting steadily more drunk. They had drifted apart and Stoick couldn’t pretend anymore.

Couldn’t pretend that all of this wasn’t his fault. Because it was , by Odin it was, and now his son was - 

There was a knock at the door. Or more like a scratch. Stoick frowned, swinging the door open and staring out into the night.

When his eyes caught nothing, he looked down.

“Dragon,” he said flatly.

The dragon - Toothless - huffed. It - he - sat on his hunches, as if waiting. The sudden perplexity of the situation caught Stoic off guard, enough for him to look around as if hoping someone would pop in and offer him an explanation.

“Would you … like to come in?” Stoic asked.

The dragon warbled in agreement.

Stoic moved. Or rather, he was moved.

Because the dragon pushed passed him like he owned the place, strutting in and looking around as if judging (the admittedly bland) decor. Stoick stared at it for a moment, before deciding he wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Dra - Toothless,” he said hesitantly, “What is it you want?”

Could the beast even understand him? It prowled around the small area in the entrance way, before deciding to head up the stairs. Stoick followed it, worried it would break something.

He . For Thor’s sake, Stoick at least should have the decency to respect the creature that had done more for Hiccup than Stoick ever could.

It waited near Hiccup’s door, as if asking to be let in. Stoick paused, not knowing what he should do, but the dragon turned to look at him with wide, kind eyes and - 

(He looked like -)

And Stoick relented.

He hadn’t been into Hiccup’s room ever since that day. Hadn’t had the courage to even come upstairs most of the time. Everything in the house felt empty, like the hollow in his chest that only seemed to grow larger by the day. Everything looked bleaker, sounded duller, without Hiccup banging around, clumsily working on an invention and cursing when he made a mistake.

Stoick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stepped into Hiccup’s room.

In an instant, everything in him screamed to leave . Because this wasn’t right .

He couldn’t breathe. Something had reached up and coiled around his neck, around his chest and lungs, choking him and maybe - maybe he deserved that. Who was he to be alive now when Hiccup was gone . His vision blurred and he stumbled forward, like the world was falling out from under him - like the world already had fallen out under him, and there was nothing to hold him up anymore.

Something scaly touched his side, stabilising him.

He flinched.

The dragon crooned, as if trying to comfort Stoick, even though the man so clearly didn’t deserve it. Slowly, they walked towards Hiccup’s bed, and Stoick sat down with a huff. His limbs felt heavy, like the sky was weighing him down. 

Something landed on his lap. He looked down, only to see Toothless looking up, his eyes wide and kind and - 

And so much like Hiccup’s .

Stoick choked, his vision blurring and narrowing until it was just him and his son’s beloved friend. He couldn’t bring himself to think - to even feel - because if he did, he thought that the vastness of his pain might rip him apart at the seams. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it.

“I killed him,” Stoick said softly, “I did this.”

The dragon made a low rumbling sound and Stoick realised that Toothless was crying.

He realised that he was crying too.

Tentatively, he laid his large hands on the dragon, smooth scales making contact with his callouses. He was a majestic being, beautiful in a way that Stoick had never truly appreciated until now. He was too scared to even touch him properly, hands just grazing over his head.

Toothless nudged his head up, firmly connecting Stoick’s palm with his nose. His eyes were so full of understanding that Stoick felt a fresh wave of grief wash over him.

So that’s what Hiccup had seen, in the amazing dragon. He was so, so much like his son that Stoick half-thought that it was Hiccup, in a dragon body. But he would be a fool to make a mistake like that.

Just as Hiccup had not been Valka, Toothless was not Hiccup. He was just someone that Hiccup had left behind. Someone that Stoick had now, to hold and to cherish.

“I’m sorry,” Stoick said, because Hiccup wasn’t around anymore, but Toothless was, “I know - I know that I can never make up for what I did. I know that. I’m - “ how could he put into words, the enormity of his guilt, the sheer force of everything he was feeling - how could he describe the unimaginable .

But Toothless purred under his hand, soft and full of empathy.

“Thank you,” he said instead, “For bringing him back to me. You did all you could.”

He wrapped his arms around the poor creature, a note of kinship between them even as so much couldn’t be undone or unsaid. Toothless pressed his face against Stoick’s neck and rumbled lowly, a sound coming from deep within, a sound so raw that Stoick could hear it in his own voice.

And Stoick finally let himself break.

Chapter Text

The village was tense, when the dragons began to arrive.

No one was quite sure to react. Astrid and her friends now rode dragons - usually in hesitant laps around the island, trying through trial and error because no one was around to teach them (anymore). So dragons weren’t an unusual sight.

They never had been, in Berk, but this was still strange - the whole, we’re not killing them, and they aren’t killing us thing. Peace, Astrid supposed.

Peace didn’t feel great. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, as she remembered what it took to achieve it. It left a hollow in her chest, a stupid, dork-sized hollow that didn’t go away no matter how many axes she angrily threw. 

“They’re starting to become a nuisance,” someone said, breaking Astrid out of her thoughts.

They were gathered in the Great Hall, Stoick looking more tired than she’d ever seen him. It had been two weeks, at most, since - since everything changed. His bears seemed to be turning more grey everyday, the circles under his eyes darkening.

Yesterday, Astrid had gone to his house to check on him. She had run as fast as far as she could, when he heard the wailing coming from inside. At least, she reasoned, past the guilt and grief, that he had Toothless with him.

“What will we do about them?” another person asked.

Stoick leaned heavily on the table, fists against the wood, “We will handle it. They are no longer our enemies. I’m certain we can coexist.”

Astrid wondered if he was thinking what she was.

That this would be easier, if Hiccup was here.

(There was nothing that really told her that was the truth. Toothless could have been a fluke. Hiccup could’ve just gotten lucky. After all, all his life he’d been more useless than anything. Nothing pointed to the fact that Hiccup would have made any of this better - or worse.

Except.)

There was a yell outside, more exasperated than anything. Gobber was chasing away a Terrible Terror that had grabbed a hold of his hook-arm.

“Little wretch!” Gobber yelled, “Get your own arm!”

Astrid bit back a slight smile at the sight of a huge Viking being defeated by a tiny dragon.

Stoick grumbled. He turned his head to the side and Astrid followed his line of sight.

Toothless had taken to sitting by the entrance of the Great Hall, curled up as though he were protecting the place. There was something majestic and mysterious about him, the way he was draped in his black wings.

“Can you do something about this?” Stoick asked.

Toothless sighed, and roared at the Terror. The Terror roared back.

Toothless shrugged and rolled over, going back to a nap.

“Stoick!” Gobber yelled.

Astrid almost smiled, shifting closer to Toothless. He sniffed her hand and let her run her fingers along his scale.

He didn’t smile, but he softened.

(There was nothing suggesting that Hiccup would have handled this dragon-problem any better than they were.

Except Astrid remembered how Hiccup had coaxed Hookfang out of his cage so easily. How Hiccup made Toothless laugh - laugh , dragons knew to laugh. 

She remembered how he looked, soaring against clear blue skies, his grin wider than she’d ever seen it, more free than she’d ever seen him.)

(She remembered watching him fall, her heart plummeting with him. She remembered screaming.)

—

Dragon Training was a bust. It always was - it left Astrid tired and annoyed. She didn’t know how to handle any of it.

Apart from the twins, there was a power struggle currently going on. Astrid, having learned the most from Hiccup (as precious little it was) thought she ought to be leader. Fishlegs figured that with his dragon knowledge (nothing, compared to Hiccup’s, but they used HIccup’s notes and Fishlegs was the best at deciphering those) made him the best choice to train dragons. Snotlout was Snotlout and always thought he was the best, even though Hiccup - 

She probably needed to stop thinking about Hiccup.

Because Hiccup was dead.

(He was dead, and how dare he leave her like this, just when she finally saw him, unadulterated, and when she finally felt like someone saw her too - )

“Okay, listen - “ Astrid said, “We need to work on the formations.”

Snotlout groaned, “Always with your formations. We just need to take to the skies! Why so much studying?”

“Because we need to know exactly how our dragons work together, or else they’ll just crash into each other!” Astrid said.

“She’s got a point,” Fishlegs murmured, just as Tuffnut said, “So let them crash!”

Snotlout rolled his eyes, “Anyway, we know that - that Hiccup just went for it right? We should do that.”

“We’re not Hiccup.”

“Yes, Astrid,” Snotlout snapped, “As you keep reminding us.”

Astrid glanced at the others, none of whom met her eyes. Did they all think she talked about Hiccup too much? She had to.

The Village was already moving on. Adjusting to dragons, adjusting to peace. They were all forgetting Hiccup - so sue her for being the only one who wanted to remember.

She grit her teeth, “Well you’re not.”

Snotlout glared, “Not our fault you’ve got a stupid crush on him.”

Something in her reared its head, like a dragon coming to life. It ripped out of her throat, roaring with her voice, and in a blink she had knocked Snotlout to the ground. She punched him. Again. And Again. It felt good, the pain in her finally having a place to land. There was fire in her, threatening to burn her from inside out. She had never felt so much rage before, and she didn’t know what to do with it.

She thought that maybe someone was pulling at her, trying to get her to stop, but Astrid didn’t care.

So what if she had, for a moment, had feelings for Hiccup? So what if she had become enamored with his quick wit and his laugh when they were up in the air? So what if she had a crush on a dead boy?

Did they all forget? Did the whole village forget?

Hiccup gave them the sky .

—

They tell her that Snotlout’s nose was broken and his jaw was bruised.

She didn’t have it in her to care. She spent the next few days in bed, feeling sick. All she managed to do was cry for no reason like a weakling . She hated herself. She hated the village. She hated everything.

There was a knock outside her window. She rolled out of her bed, ready to yell at Fishlegs or the twins or whoever had come to disrupt her wallowing.

It was Stormfly though, and Astrid would never yell at her.

“I don’t feel like playing today, girl,” she said apologetically, “Don’t feel like doing much.”

Stormfly huffed a breath.

Then grabbed her by her foot.

For a panicked moment Astrid’s Viking senses told her she was being eaten, but the moment passed quickly into annoyance. She squirmed in Stormfly’s gentle hold.

“Stormfly, no.”

Stormfly very much didn’t listen, carrying her to what Astrid - from where she was watching the world upside down - recognised as Gobber’s forge. She was put down unceremoniously, and Stormfly settled down in an area near the entrance.

“Oh hey, Astrid,” Gobber said, “How’re ya doin’, lass?”

Astrid’s indignation died in her throat as she took in the sight in front of her. Toothless, looking a little put-out, was sitting quietly as Gobber examined his tail. 

“I’m okay,” she said softly, feeling compelled to come sit down beside the man, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure he’s alright, mostly. This is - it’s a good piece of work, but needs maintenance.”

“Oh,” she looked around the forge, feeling a weird Hiccup-shaped hole in the place, “How’s the forge been doing?”

Gobber gave her a half-way smile, sad, “Not much work lately, now that we aren’t killing these beasts.”

From Gobber’s desk, a Terrible Terror - the one that had been trying to steal his hand, Astrid realised - raised its head and warbled. Toothless made a small noise, something sarcastic like, you’re welcome.

Gobber pet Toothless affectionately, and easily said, “Still miss an extra hand around here.”

Astrid gulped, a little guiltily. She had been so caught up in grief - in her misguided thought that she had known Hiccup better than anyone else - that she had forgotten about Gobber.

Berk had never been kind to Hiccup, but Gobber had always been there for him. He had understood the boy like no one else, taken him under his wing. Hiccup had a knack for building, something that Gobber had taken notice of and nurtured. No one else had believed in Hiccup before then.

“What was he like?” she asked, her voice sounding far away.

“Huh?” Gobber stared at her, “Hiccup?”

“Yeah,” Astrid looked away, “I feel like - I feel like I have no right to - to miss him - when I didn’t even know him that well.”

She’d known him for three days, really. And even if it felt like a lifetime, it hadn’t been.

She barreled on, “I was never kind to him, until - until the end. So I was wondering - “

Did she even have a right to know him?

But she wanted to remember him. Hiccup. Not the Dragon Trainer or the Peacemaker or whatever Berk was whispering these days. She wanted to remember Hiccup.

Gobber softened, his eyes a little glassy. He started with a laugh, “He had a mouth on him, I’ll tell ya that right now. When he first got here …”

Astrid settled down to listen.

—

Astrid found herself that afternoon on Hiccup’s favourite perch. It made sense it would be so high up, best accessible by a dragon. Stormfly was behind her taking a nap, while Astrid swung her legs over the ledge, staring out into the world.

She still felt terrible, but a little less so now.

She heard the beating of wings, followed by a loud thud as dragons landed behind her. She didn’t turn to look, to know it was her friend.

“There you are!” Tuffnut said, “You were right about learning formations.”

“Not that crashing wasn’t fun,” Ruffnut said, coming to sit beside Astrid, “How are you doing?”

Astrid shrugged.

“Gobber told us you were up here,” Fishlegs informed her.

Astrid felt a flare of indignation, but it was less than before. “I was talking to him about Hiccup. I figured … well …”

“We didn’t know him all that well?” Tuffnut said, a strange moment of wisdom from him. Astrid nodded.

“I get it,” Fishlegs said softly, “He changed so much, but we were always …”

“Cruel to him.”

Astrid jerked up, turning to Snotlout. She raised an eyebrow, taking a little bit of pride seeing how much damage she had done. 

“Yeah,” Astrid agreed, “We were muttonheads. And he still - “

“Gave us our dragons,” Snotlout petted Hookfang, before finally taking a seat beside her, “He was crazy.”

Astrid snorted, “Yeah.”

She felt a little guilty again. Maybe she had known him a little better, but she had been just as awful before. And she knew her friends were feeling just as confused and regretful as she was.

She wished, more than anything, that Hiccup was here. Why was it that they had all realised everything too late? It wasn't fair.

They stared down at the beaches together, as the sun began to slip down the sky. Toothless was down on the sand, a branch between his teeth that was dragging in the sand, like he was trying to draw.

“We should take him flying,” Snotlout murmured.

They all stared at him.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Tuffnut admitted.

Astrid swallowed, guilty again, “Yeah.”

“What?” he said defensively, “He can’t fly on his own right? So.”

“You can be surprisingly considerate,” Astrid noted, loving how he spluttered indignantly. After a while she said, “I’m sorry for punching you.”

Snotlout shrugged, “I’m sorry too.”

—

They took Toothless flying in turns, and the dragon seemed happy enough with the arrangement, though they all knew it wasn’t the same. Even Stoick joined, and eventually, Gobber too.

It was something.

Astrid ran her fingers along Toothless’ scales as they flew, remembering the first time Hiccup had taken her above the cloud. Her eyes welled up in tears, and she blamed the wind whipping past her.

Hiccup had given her the sky.

Toothless crooned and Astrid hoped that one day, she could make him laugh like Hiccup did. For now, she hoped the sky was enough.

Chapter Text

Vikings are weak. Their hides are soft and easily burned, their claws are blunt at the end of soft, fleshy nubs, their limbs easily torn off and taken. It was a miracle that they remained fighting at all against dragons, but he supposed that Vikings were, above all, stubborn.

In truth, he didn’t think much of vikings. He didn’t think much at all, with the Queen’s call drawing him in further and deeper than he had ever wanted to go. It wasn’t until he lost his ability to fly that he found him .

His Viking-hatchling, who was the softest and weakest of them all.

The most stubborn too.

The Viking-boy gave him fish. It was pressed up against a rock, strange furs covering its boney body, like make-shift hide. It was watching him, waiting, but not running. It did something weird with its face, showing off its teeth (easily broken, like the rest of it). 

He attempted to do something similar back. The small thing was happy, he realised.

The small Viking-hatchling was not an it, but a he .

His name was Hiccup.

And he called the Wrath-of-Night Toothless .

After the fish and the tail, things were simpler.

Actually, most of it still involved the fish and the tail. The Viking-hatchling gave him fish and made him a tail. At first, flying was awkward, because there was a weight on his back he had to account for, and sometimes Hiccup-hatchling wanted to go left when Toothless-dragon wanted to go right.

But eventually, Toothless grew used to the weight on his shoulders. 

Eventually, two-bodies were one-dragon, and it just made sense .

Toothless wished they had stayed in that cove forever.

Vikings are soft, and Hiccup is the softest of them all.

He’s also the most stubborn.

That was why Toothless spent so much time simply waiting . Waiting for Hiccup to move, to wake up, to hug him.

The Red Death Queen was dead. They had won .

So why wasn’t Hiccup climbing aboard? Why wasn’t Hiccup scratching him with his blunt nails and smiling at him with his breakable teeth? 

Toothless knew that Viking-hatchlings were weak. He knew that he should’ve been more protective. But Hiccup had always seemed so strong . As strong as Toothless.

Because they were one-dragon, weren’t they?

Toothless waited for Hiccup to wake up. His Sire-Viking-Chief was cradling him and Toothless had been uneasy getting close. Sire-of-Hiccup had not been kind and Viking-Chiefs were always bad news. Even so, Toothless hoped that things would be alright now.

Hiccup wasn’t waking up. But he would. He would . He was stubborn like that.

(One-dragon. That was him. That was them. Toothless’ Hiccup and Hiccup’s Toothless. That made sense .)

He crooned lightly, a noise he hadn’t wanted to make but came out anyway. Something tightened in his chest, between his wings, along his back. Some Viking looked up. They were giving him a wide breadth, but they weren’t bothering him. Some of them were watering from the eyes.

Strange, Toothless thought, trying to cover his ears from the noise and wishing Hiccup-hatchling would wake up . Things would be less strange when he did.

“That’s gotta be painful.”

The voice made Toothless perk up, because no one had talked to him yet except Father-Chief. The One-Arm-One-Leg Viking was hesitating near him. Toothless could smell a bit of fear, and also the overwhelming stench of Viking-ness. 

Hiccup used to complain about how Vikings did not bathe often. Not that Dragons did either but Toothless liked laughing along anyway.

Not used to, Toothless corrected himself. Hiccup would wake. He would .

“Yer saddle I mean,” the Viking continued, waving its - his - hooked hand around. Toothless couldn’t understand most of the words but he knew saddle . That was the thing on his back, usually full of Hiccup but now not.

“How ‘bout I get that off ya? Make ya more comf’table.”

Viking was strange but Toothless allowed him to approach. He realised what the man meant was to get the saddle off his back, for which Toothless was grateful. It would hurt if it stayed on too long. Hiccup always made sure to take it off as soon as they were no longer going for a flight.

“It’s - it’s good work,” the one-armed-man said, “He - of course he made this on his own - he was so - clever little Hiccup - “

There was a sound, like a groan or a choke, and the one-armed man’s eyes began to water. Toothless crooned, nudging at him. He smelled sad.

He smelled like mourning.

What was he mourning, Toothless wondered. Why was he sad?

The hook-armed man wrapped his arms around Toothless, like Hiccup did, and buried his face in his neck. Toothless allowed it, his crooning turning from confused to panicked.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong .

Agitated, Toothless stomped, disturbing the one-armed viking and some others around them. From in front, the Sire-of-Hiccup looked back.

Grief lined that Viking’s face, deep and endless.

Something in Toothless slipped, shattered.

One-dragon . Toothless-and-Hiccup were two-bodies one-dragon . That was how it was. How it was supposed to be. That’s what made sense.

There was this empty space on his back, between his shoulder blades.

It's worse than not having a tail.

One of them, he’d come to realise, could be replaced.

It didn’t dawn on him completely until they reached Viking-village (Berk, apparently). Viking-Sire, who had been all rough edges and sharp tongued, was moving slow. Like there was a weight on his shoulder.

(There wasn’t a weight on Toothless’ shoulders. That’s wrong -)

It didn’t even dawn on him when Toothless was allowed to dismount without anyone giving him a second glance. Happily, he bounded over to the new-dragons that Hiccup-friends were riding. The dragons greeted him just as enthusiastically, though they all could tell something was wrong.

The Vikings were quiet, which was very un-Viking-like. But Hiccup would go quiet too sometimes so - 

So it would be okay.

Something in Toothless stirred, painful and awful and terrible and he wanted Hiccup . He wanted to fly, and to leave these feelings behind, even if just for the evening. The Queen was dead. They should be celebrating.

It only really dawned on him when Hiccup-Sire laid Hiccup into a boat and sent him off to sea. When the boat went up in flames and no one moved to stop.

How can Toothless be one-dragon if his other-half was gone ?

Dragons went to Vanaheim on their own. Vikings were sent by boat.

Because Vikings were soft and weak and Hiccup had been so, so strong.

Toothless wanted to fly away.

He no longer wanted to be on the island. No longer wanted to be with the people who made Hiccup miserable and made Hiccup want to run away and made Hiccup gone .

(Toothless knew it was the Queen to blame. He knew , but Viking-Chief walked in the village and Toothless remembered how Hiccup had hurt.)

But Toothless couldn’t fly because he wasn’t even one-dragon anymore. He was half, never full, never whole, and there was this empty space on his back and - 

Toothless roared into the night, his howls carried to the skies where he and Hiccup should be right now.

His cries carried out into the sea, to Vanaheim, where Hiccup was, right now.

Most days, Toothless spent far away from Viking-Sire, but still within the Village.

Hiccup had, despite all the Viking’s flaws, cared for them. Toothless was trying to figure out why. They were not clever, like Hiccup, and only half as kind. But they were stubborn too.

The man - Gobber - came by often. Sat with him like they were friends. Looked at his tail sometimes, but not for long because his eyes would begin to water. He made sounds, low and guttural, and Toothless rumbled back.

“He loved ya,” Gobber said sometimes, “So much.”

Toothless warbled.

“Yeah,” the man said, wiping his eyes and taking a long drink from his mug-hand, “I know.”

Toothless had loved Hiccup back. In the uncompromising, unending way one could only love themselves.

It was hard, being one-without-oneself. 

He wished Hiccup were here, so he was two-bodies one-dragon again. But Hiccup wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense.

The empty space on his back spread down to his stomach, to his heart, to his bones. He was only half, now. He didn’t think he’d ever be full again.

Viking-Sire passed by the Great Hall often, where Toothless stood guard in case any wild dragons decided to attack. It was what Hiccup would have wanted, because Hiccup was soft and kind and forgiving.

Toothless tired to forgive, too.

Viking-Sire had hair like fire but these days they were turning grey, like flames turning to ash. He was trying very hard to be Viking-Chief, but he stumbled often and Gobber said something about crying when no one was looking.

Viking-Sire stopped to look at him for a long while. Toothless raised his head.

There was a space between them, but this one could be filled.

One day, Toothless knocked on Stoick’s house.

His name was Stoick , from what he had gathered from Gobber. Not “Dad”, which was confusing because that’s what Hiccup always called him. Used to call him.

It was more of a scratching, but Hiccup said - used to say - it was polite to knock or something. Vikings were weird.

Stoick opened the door, doing something with his face and smelling confused. Toothless sat on his hunches, waiting.

(Like Hiccup had done, when they first met. Waiting for Toothless to come to him instead.)

Viking-Sire let him in, but he was very big so Toothless had to move him a little.

Hiccup’s house was small, still smelling of him. Something churned in Toothless’ stomach, something ugly and awful. He had half a mind to run, but he was half a dragon and even if he could never be whole again, he wanted to be a better half.

(Not the better half, that was Hiccup-hatchling, so small and soft and kind. Who Toothless should’ve protected more.)

That night Toothless found himself in Hiccup’s hole - room? - his head on Viking-Sire’s lap and a low rumbling in his chest as his entire body ached and missed and cried.

Dragons began moving in. Which was good, because Toothless then spent most of his time snapping at Flame-Self off wood-roofs and Spine-Tail off sheep. Stoick was pleased with his help, though sometimes Toothless would let certain dragons harass certain Vikings out of pettiness.

(“Yer a right menace,” Gobber would say, Small-Terrible-Terror gnawing at his arm.

Toothless would want to laugh, but he was mostly too tired too. Maybe one day, he would be able to laugh though, without the empty space on his shoulder weighing him down.)

The Hiccup-friend, led by Astrid, began to fly with dragons. It was not the same as Toothless-and-Hiccup, Hiccup-and-Toothless. The others were trusting of one another but they could be on their own too. They were not one-dragon.

Well. Toothless was not one-dragon either. Not anymore.

Seasons passed.

It had to.

Viking-Sire allowed Toothless to sleep in Hiccup’s room, where Hiccup’s scent was strongest, but even that began to face.

The cove became covered in amber leaves, and then in white snow.

Astrid took him out to fly, then the others too.

Gobber worked on his tail fin, a design that Hiccup left behind.

Some days Toothless woke from nightmares, crooning at Stoick who gave him sympathetic scratches. Some days Toothless bound around the Viking-village with Viking-people smiling and waving.

Some days, Toothless lay uselessly in front of the Great Hall, waiting for Vanaheim.

Except.

Toothless realised.

Except he couldn’t even fly to Vanaheim because he wasn’t one-dragon anymore.

His shrieks filled the night, when he realised that. He couldn’t even fly to Vanaheim.

He hated being half-a-dragon.

He hated it.

One day, Toothless watched Hiccup-friends train, laughing and pushing each other around. It was a little painful, but also a little funny.

"Aw c'mon Astrid," Snotlout said, flexing his arm, "Admit I'm the best Dragon Rider here. Hookfang loves me."

Hookfang spat flame at Snotlout's behind. Hiccup-friends laughed.

Toothless laughed too. Hiccup would've found it funny too.

Astrid's face lit up, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. She gave him belly-scratches and more fish than he could eat throughout the day, pleased by something. Toothless didn't know what, exactly. Hiccup had been right. Astrid was strange.

Astrid took him on a flight, Spine-Tail named Stormfly close behind, as well as Hiccup-friends and their dragon-friends.

Astrid sighed happily, “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Boring!” one of the Vikings-that-look-the-same said, “Where’s the firing at things.”

“We don’t always have to fire at things,” Astrid said, “We can just fly sometimes, you know.”

That’s what Hiccup and Toothless had done. Just fly. WIth so little obligations and so much sky stretched around them. There had been no training then, no life-threatening adventures, no one to stop them. It had been Toothles-and-Hiccup, with the fish and the tail and the cove.

Something struck Toothless then, like a spear through his chest. He went down onto a sea stack violently, the thought of Hiccup suddenly too much to handle.

“Toothless?” Astrid cried out in alarm.

There was a weight on his back that wasn’t Hiccup , so he bucked, throwing it off, not caring that it was Hiccup-friend-Astrid. She yelped, as she fell to the ground. Stormfly came to her aid, roaring.

What’s wrong , they kept asking, dragons and Vikings alike, What’s wrong, Toothless?

And Toothless could only howl and wailt and scratching at himself because everything, everything was wrong.

They brought half-a-dragon back to Berk on the wings of other dragons, because Toothless couldn’t fly without Hiccup, and wouldn’t want to either, unless it was to get to Vanaheim.

“What happened?” Stoick asked immediately, his large hand covering Toothless’ nose.

Somehow, the pain receded. Sire-Chief was not always kind, not always soft, but he was comfort. 

“I don’t know. He just freaked,” Astrid said, distressed.

Toothless rumbled lowly, pressing into Stoick. Distantly, Toothless heard Gobber ushering the others away.

“I’m so sorry,” Stoick said, the words worn with its repetition and its meaning something even Toothless, a dragon, could grasp, “This is my fault.”

“Oh, Stoick,” Gobber said, but didn’t deny.

But Toothless did deny. Because it had taken a while, but Toothless knew now. It’s not your fault .

Gobber understood, “The dragon’s right, Stoick. Can’t beat yourself up forever,” then he turned to Toothless, stern, “And it wasn’t your fault either.”

Toothless denied, but Stoick didn’t, nodding along.

Gobber sighed at both of them, his eyes a little wet but no longer watering, “Hiccup wouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t your fault. You know he’d say the same.”

And Toothless did know, better than anyone, because Hiccup was his better half.

Hiccup was kind and forgiving.

He had been stronger than all of them.

Half-a-dragon and a sonless-sire sat around the table at dinner that night.

There’s a weight missing on Toothless’ shoulders, and a space at the table left empty.

Hiccup left Toothless one last gift, because he was kind like that.

“It’s a tail,” Gobber explained to Hiccup-friends and Stoick who had gathered around. “One that should help him fly on his own.”

Toothless tilted his head, catching and understanding half the words. Something about tail and flight. Neither of which he had.

“It was Hiccup’s design, of course. I modified it slightly.”

They put a tail on him and Toothless waited for someone to board him. No one did.

“You can fly on your own now,” Stoick explained, half-a-smile for half-a-dragon, “You don’t need us anymore.”

No, Toothless realised, he didn’t.

But he still needed Hiccup.

In his attempt to get out, he broke half the forge and sent Astrid flying, but he didn’t care. He spread his wings and took flight, freedom tasting bittersweet.

He turned North, towards Vanaheim.

Toothless remembered learning to fly again with Hiccup, how he had to take into account the weight of the hatchling on his shoulders, how he had to learn to predict which way to go.

He was in complete control now, no weight on his shoulders, no need to calibrate.

So why was it harder to fly?

A quarter way past what used to be the old Queen’s nest, Toothless landed on a sea stack.

The path to Vanaheim was ingrained in him, something instinctual that all dragons knew. He could follow the winds there.

He looked back towards Berk.

There was no weight on Toothless’ shoulder now, an empty space where his Viking should be.

Hiccup wasn’t coming back. Toothless knew that. There was no way for Toothless to ever be whole again. He wouldn’t want to be, anyway. Not without Hiccup.

Vikings were weak and soft. Toothless had thought that Hiccup had been the weakest and softest of all of them. But he had been wrong.

Hiccup was strong. And without him, the rest of Berk didn’t really stand a chance, did it? And perhaps, along the way, Toothless had come to like the Viking-village, smelly and strange as it was. And Viking-Sire had turned out to be nice, past his rough edges and sharp tongue.

Vikings are weak. Their hides are soft and easily burned, their claws are blunt at the end of soft, fleshy nubs, their limbs easily torn off and taken. It was a miracle that they remained living at all, among dragons, but he supposed that Vikings were, above all, adaptable.

He hadn’t thought much of them, until Hiccup.

Hiccup was forgiving, but Toothless didn’t think that Hiccup would forgive his other-half for abandoning Berk like this. Toothless wouldn’t forgive himself.

He turned towards Vanaheim and roared.

The caves around him echoed his roar back.

Half-a-dragon flew back south towards Berk. There was no weight on his shoulders and now, he promised, there never would be.

He didn’t want to be one-dragon, not without Hiccup.

Tails could be replaced. It didn’t change much, but it changed everything.

Hiccup left Toothless one last gift because he was kind like that. Vanaheim would have to wait, but one day Toothless would be reunited with Hiccup, and Toothless-and-Hiccup would be whole again.

Seasons would pass. They had to.

Until then, there was no weight on his shoulder, an empty space that couldn’t be filled.

Stoick was at the cove when Toothless returned. He looked up, startled.

“You came back."

Then, he closed his eyes, water slipping down his cheeks, “Of course you did … thank you .”

Toothless rumbled lowly, laying his head down. He realised now that he wouldn’t have ever made it to Vanaheim. Viking-Sire was strong and stubborn, a force of nature that pulled him back. That’s where Hiccup had gotten it from.

Stoick didn’t move, and nor did Toothless. They remained a few feet apart, leaving the space between them unfilled, but the silence between them comforting.