Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ᛏiᛁ ᚴiᛁᛁᚠ, ᛏiᛁ ᛒᚢᚢ, ᚾᚾᛏ ᛏiᛁ ᛏᚱᚾᚴᚢᚾ

The large door to the wooden house groaned on its hinges as Stoick shouldered it open, the chill of the summer evening still clinging to his thick, braided beard.

The tri-annual Berk Market day had gone longer than expected- traders with half-truth bargains, squabbles to settle, fish to haggle for. His back ached and his arms were sore from hauling barrels, but home, at least, was a welcome thought.

He expected the usual quiet. Maybe Hiccup hunched over his workbench, muttering about cogs and pins. Maybe the boy was already asleep, pale face buried under furs on his stiff bedframe. The chief let his eyes adjust to the firelit living room, looking forward to hanging up his helmet for the day.

Instead, he froze in place. 

A shadow, darker than the firelight should allow, moved in the corner. Black scales rippled like water, reflecting flickers of orange from the hearth. Two vast wings shifted, folding and unfolding. And in the center, green eyes blinked open slowly, sharp as emerald flame.

Stoick’s heart felt like it had lurched into his throat. Dragon.

His hand shot to the axe on his back, gripping the wooden handle. His instinct was roaring through his veins. Kill it. Now. Before it notices. Before it tears him apart.

A Night Fury.

The Night Fury.

But then the dragon stirred- and Hiccup rolled with it, presenting no resistance with his head rising groggily from where he’d been leaning against the creature’s side. His boy. His spindly, too-thin boy, asleep against the belly of death itself.

The Chief's breath caught.

Toothless nudged Hiccup’s shoulder, and the lad laughed softly, rubbing the remnants of their nap from his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up. You’re impatient tonight.” His voice was easy, unafraid. This was his normal. He reached out a small, calloused hand, brushing against a snout that could snap him in half without effort. The Fury leaned into it.

The axe’s haft creaked under Stoick’s firm grip.

Hiccup stood, stretching his arms above his head, muttering, “Just need to finish the strap- give me a second, bud.” He shuffled to the table, papers scattered with sketches of tail fins and harness buckles. His tools clinked, his small hands adjusting bits of leather that had recently been damaged. Toothless watched him, tail flicking in excitement.

They must have been working on it earlier as well; this was all usually upstairs in Hiccup's bedroom.

Stoick’s throat tightened with familiar discomfort and overprotectiveness. He watched from behind the stairs, listening. He’s training it. He has trained it. The boy is training the beast and treating the 'offspring of lightning and death' as he would a house cat. 

And sure enough, minutes later, Hiccup tugged on the harness, fastening the last loop with a triumphant grin. “There! That should hold this time.”

Toothless warbled happily in agreement, crouching low.

“No, wait- outside first, Dad would be mad if we trashed the house just trying to get out the door again.” Hiccup whispered, glancing to the exit. He crept to it, careful as a practiced thief; the boy was used to sneaking out. Stoick barely had time to duck behind a different post as his son eased it open. Cold night air rushed in.

Hiccup and the dragon slipped into the dark together.

Stoick followed discreetly. 

Out on the cliffs, beneath a spattering of stars, Hiccup clambered into the saddle as if mounting a stubborn pony. His legs barely fit around the dragon’s neck, his hands fussing over the stirrups. Toothless craned his head back, eyes soft, waiting.

Stoick’s heart pounded so loud he feared they’d hear it. He wasn't used to this, and it was scary.

Generations of dragon-killing techniques passed down were being obliterated by his only son. The very hiccup of the Viking teenagers on Berk. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, the Chief watched as, with a bound, the duo went airborne.

Wings like strong sails snapped open, and the ground fell away quickly. The Night Fury cut through the air with terrifying grace, the wind singing past, resulting in quiet, high-pitched whistling that would strike any Viking with absolute terror upon hearing it. 

Or at least it used to.

Hiccup’s laughter rang out. It was thin, breathless, but filled with exhilaration. “Yes! That’s it, bud!”

The dragon was practically invisible against the dark night sky. Perfectly blending in with the brightly lit stars in the vast, inky expanse. 

Stoick staggered to the cliff’s edge, watching helplessly as his only child clung to the back of the most dangerous dragon alive. Every swoop, every dive, was a knife in his gut. Every near-roll made his muscles tense, ready to shout, to demand him down.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

Because Hiccup wasn’t just surviving. He was... alive. His face was brighter than Stoick had ever seen, eyes wide with intuitive wonder, hair whipping in the wind. His voice carried adventurous joy, not fear.

And the dragon, gods save them, the dragon flew not like a beast hauling prey, but like a brother carrying his own kin. Every movement was adjusted for Hiccup. Every tilt and shift kept the boy balanced.

He saw them do this once before. While defeating the Red Death. It was terrifying to watch. 

Stoick’s axe slipped from his fingers, thudding into the dirt.

He sank to one knee, torn between terror and awe. His boy- only fifteen, small enough that the armor still slipped from his shoulders, weak enough that one strong gust might break him- was out there commanding the sky itself. Not by force. Not by fear. But by pure trust and built loyalty.

Unbeknownst to the chief, these two were soulmates in every shape and form.

When they landed gracefully, Toothless crouched low so Hiccup could dismount. The boy tumbled into the grass, laughing as the Fury shoved him with its snout. “Okay, okay, you win!” he gasped, hugging the scaled jaw.

The lad was soon stretched out on the grass, thin arms outstretched, catching his breath while fiddling with Toothless' tail fin as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in his life, Stoick the Vast felt utterly, terrifyingly small.

He should really put more faith in this dragon. 

───────────

The fire had burned down to glowing coals, but Hiccup was still awake, hunched over his desk. After bringing Toothless inside for the night, his father had made him take all is supplies back up to his room. Parchment covered with charcoal lay once again scattered everywhere in his bedroom, containing half-finished, new ideas for dragon training. His eyes were bleary, and his ash-stained fingers were smudged across the margins.

Behind him, Toothless gave a pointed huff.

“I know, bud,” Hiccup muttered, dipping his quill again. “Just one more drawing, and then-”

A heavy thump rattled the room. Hiccup froze, eyes suddenly wide and animated. Slowly, he turned.

Toothless was sprawled across his bed.

Correction: Toothless was sprawled across everything. His wings drooped over the side, his tail flicked dangerously near the candle that kept the room lit, and his head rested squarely on Hiccup’s pillow. Both eyes were squeezed shut, very exaggeratedly, in the worst imitation of sleep Hiccup had ever seen.

“Really?” Hiccup sighed. “That’s my- You’ve got... literally the entire outside world to stretch out in.”

One green eye cracked open. Toothless gave him a look that could only be described as purely smug before squeezing it shut again and letting out the loudest fake sleepy growl in history.

Hiccup dragged a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

Resigned, he shuffled toward the bed, only to stop short. His leg didn’t feel quite right. He glanced down. His metal leg was gone.

The Viking clenched his fists at his sides. “...Toothless.”

The dragon’s tail twitched. Hiccup followed the movement and, sure enough, spotted the prosthetic clenched neatly between Toothless’s front paws like some kind of trophy.

“Okay, give it back.”

Toothless’s ears perked, his eyes bright with mischief. He chirped once, then rolled dramatically onto his side, pulling the prosthetic against his chest as if Hiccup had just asked for his most prized possession.

“Oh, come on! I need that to- y’know- walk?”

The Night Fury only purred louder, clearly enjoying himself.

After several failed attempts at retrieval (involving much tugging, flailing, and one very near miss with Toothless’s retractable teeth), Hiccup gave up. He collapsed into the tiny sliver of bed that his Night Fury had graciously left unoccupied.

Instantly, the dragon shifted. A wing folded over him like a blanket, Toothless curling around him with all the contentment of a cat that had just stolen its human’s favorite chair.

Hiccup exhaled into the dark, half-exasperated, half-melting into the feeling. “...Fine. Keep the stupid leg. I can very well take your tailfin away..”

Toothless rumbled a smug little trill and pressed his snout against his rider. 

Chapter Text

ᚢiᛁᚾ ᛚᛁᚴiᛏᚾᛁᚾᚴ ᛋᛏᚱᛁᚴᛁᛋ

The sky above Berk cracked open with another round of lightning, the flash illuminating the sea and the sound echoing and shaking through the island's life. Villagers huddled inside their huts and in the Great Hall, muttering amongst one another as rain sheeted across the wooden houses and through the cliffs.

And in the center of the square stood the crazy local Mildew, pointing a long, bony finger up at Toothless.

“It’s him! That blasted Night Fury!” the old man shouted, his voice almost raising louder than the thunder itself. “Ever since he came to Berk, the storms have only grown worse. The skies rage against us because we keep a demon in our midst!”

A crowd of Berkians had begun to gather behind him, whispering in carefully placed agreement. Hiccup stood beside Toothless, who hunched low, wings pressed tight against his sides. His ears pinned flat, and each crash of thunder made him flinch as if struck.

Stoick shouldered through the crowd, his presence quieting the whispers for a moment as he stood in front of his own house, where the people had followed. His gaze lingered on Hiccup, then on the trembling dragon. “Mildew, that’s enough. We don’t blame our own for storms.”

“Not yet, you don’t,” Mildew spat back, though he shrank slightly under Stoick’s glare. “But wait until the next bolt hits your roof. Then we’ll see how welcome the beast is.” He retreated, muttering unintelligible curses. A few villagers nodded, unease twisting their faces. Hiccup’s stomach sank.

“Are you serious?” the boy snapped, spinning toward them, rain dripping from his hair. “You think Thor’s up there, what, aiming bolts at us because Toothless exists? Come on! He hates storms more than anyone!”

As if to purposefully prove him wrong, lightning cracked, blinding white across the horizon. The villagers’ eyes didn’t soften. A few glanced at the smoldering scorch marks still fresh from lightning striking near the docks. Fear made their minds slippery.

Another crack of thunder echoed across the sky, and Toothless stood aghast, stumbling back until his tailfin scraped against Hiccup’s legs. His big green eyes widened, terrified.

“Hey, bud,” Hiccup whispered, immediately crouching to rub his jaw. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s just noise, nothing more.”

But Toothless pressed close, trembling. His whole body quaked with every new roar overhead, and the muttering of the crowd didn’t help.

“See? Even the beast knows he’s guilty!” Mildew sneered, voice oily with triumph.

“Shut it, Mildew!” Hiccup snapped, louder than he intended. He looked back at the villagers, jaw tight. “You think Toothless causes lightning? You’ve seen him shoot plasma. You know what that looks like. Lightning is punishment by Thor, not dragons. We’ve all lived through storms long before Toothless came here.” He accentuated his words with wide movements of his scrawny arms.

The villagers hesitated. A few looked away, ashamed, but Mildew pressed harder, wanting to press Stoick's trust in his son. “Coincidence, eh? And what if next time his storm burns down your homes? Or strikes your ships? Are you willing to risk it?”

Thunder boomed again. Toothless yowled and buried his head against Hiccup’s shoulder, shaking violently.

Something inside Hiccup broke.

He wrapped both arms around his dragon’s neck, glaring out at the village. “He’s not a curse. He’s my best friend. And if you’re all too scared to see that, then fine. Blame the weather on him. Blame it on me. But don’t you dare stand there and call him a monster while he’s cowering at your feet.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the storm itself.

Another flash split the sky and struck the watchtower covered with metal sheets on the hill, splintering the wood underneath into flame. Gasps erupted. For a moment, all eyes swung from the fire back to Toothless, who was still pressed against Hiccup, too afraid even to move. Hiccup knelt in the mud, both arms wrapped around Toothless. “Don’t listen to him, bud. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know us.”

Gobber limped forward, scowling. “Anyone with half a brain can see the lad’s right. Lightning’s lightning. If dragons caused it, Berk would’ve been ashes long before Hiccup made peace with ‘em.”

The murmurs died down. Shame softened into guilt. Villagers moved toward the tower to douse the flames, leaving Mildew to splutter bitterly on his own.

Hiccup stayed with Toothless until the fire was under control, stroking his scales in steady rhythms. “See, bud? It’s not you. It was never you. Just people being people. Storm’ll pass, I promise.”

————————————

The shouts outside were muffled by the walls of the hut, but they still carried, anger always carried. Hiccup sat on the edge of the loft, legs dangling over the wood beams, watching as his father and Gobber did their best to corral the crowd. Torches flickered below, thunder muttered above, and it felt like Berk itself had turned against them.

Behind him, the boards creaked as Toothless shifted, curling tighter, his sleek head pressed against Hiccup’s back. Every roll of thunder made the Night Fury’s ears pin flat and his body jolt, a low, distressed rumble escaping his chest. The Night Fury let out a heavy huff, resting his head beside the teen's hip. 

Hiccup scooted back and patted his lap. “C’mere.”

It took a moment, but finally, Toothless crept forward, climbing close enough to rest his head across Hiccup’s legs. The boy gently pulled his dragon’s head into place, running his hands along the smooth scales of his jaw until the trembling slowed. His fingers threaded through the dragon’s warm scales, absent-mindedly tracing the dark patterns. 

“I know, I know... I hate it too,” Hiccup soothed, leaning forward. Gently, he cupped his hands over Toothless’s ear nubs, blocking out the worst of the sound. “There. Not so loud now, huh?”

The dragon blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling too fast. But with Hiccup’s steady hands covering his ears and the soft weight of a lap to anchor him, he stilled by degrees. His eyes fluttered shut. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count, Toothless. Let me return the favor for once, okay?”

Thunder rolled again. Hiccup pressed his hands more firmly around Toothless’s ears and bent close, his voice a low promise against the storm.

“I know, bud,” Hiccup murmured, resting a hand on the warm scales just behind Toothless’ jaw. “It’s not fair. Not any of it.”

The dragon pressed harder against him, as if he could push himself into Hiccup’s spine and disappear.

From the window, Hiccup could see the way people looked up, the suspicion in their eyes, the fear that Mildew had twisted into something ugly. They’d seen lightning, seen Toothless’ plasma blasts, and the dots had been too easy to connect, even if it made no sense at all.

Stoick’s voice boomed over the crowd, commanding, trying to cut through their panic. Gobber’s hands waved wildly, both scolding and distracting. Hiccup watched them both, his jaw tightening, then leaned back against Toothless’ head.

“They don’t get it,” Hiccup whispered. “They don’t see you like I do. To them, you’re just... a shadow with teeth and fire. But I know better.”

Another crack of thunder rattled the walls. Toothless flinched and made a soft, keening sound, hiding his face in Hiccup’s shoulder like a child. The sound broke something in Hiccup’s chest. He reached up, scratching lightly along the dragon’s cheek until he stilled.

“You’re not the storm, Toothless,” Hiccup said firmly, though his voice wavered. “You’re powerful and dangerous only when need be. They only see that side of you.”

For a moment, there was only the patter of rain on the roof, the crowd below dulled by distance, the soft huff of the dragon's breath. Hiccup leaned his forehead against the broad curve of Toothless’ snout.

“Let them yell,” he whispered. “Let them blame you for things they don’t understand. I’ll stand here, every time, between you and them. Always.” The dragon let out a long, shaky exhale, warm against Hiccup’s chest, and wrapped his tail around him like a shield.

Down below and outside the house, Stoick’s voice settles, commanding the Berkians to go home. Gobber, as usual, added his own colorful commentary, clearly holding his ground. Hiccup could tell his dad was winning them over, little by little. The tide of the crowd was shifting, but even if it didn’t, Hiccup knew where he stood.

“You’re not a curse,” Hiccup said, firmer now, as if daring anyone- even the storm- to disagree. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Another crack of thunder, sharp and violent. But Hiccup tightened his hold over Toothless’s ears and started humming—off-key, quiet, but steady. Toothless’s breathing evened out, his tail slowly wrapping around them both, a protective curl.

For tonight, Berk could rage and bicker all it wanted. Out here, on the edge of the loft with the storm outside and the crowd below, it was just the two of them. And Hiccup wasn’t about to let anything, not thunder, not Mildew, not fear, convince Toothless that he was anything but loved.

The door downstairs creaked open. Heavy boots stomped against the wood, Gobber’s grumble reaching him first. “Never seen a lot so riled up over somethin’ they don’t understand. Thought we were past that nonsense... mostly."

Stoick’s voice followed, deep and heavy, carrying more weight than thunder. “They’ll calm down. Fear makes fools of good men. They just need time.”

Hiccup didn’t move from the loft. He never moved his hands away from his dragon's head. Stoick came up the stairs slowly, his big frame filling the space. His gaze landed on Hiccup and the Night Fury curled around him, and the anger in his eyes softened into something weary, almost guilty.

“They were after him, Dad,” Hiccup said, his voice low, shaking. “Toothless. He’s terrified of storms and they want to... to blame him for them. Do you know what that feels like for him?”

Toothless stirred at his rider’s voice, opening one large green eye to peer up at Stoick. For a long moment, the chief just looked back at him, really looked. He remembered the day Hiccup first brought the dragon home, the mistrust, the fear, the sheer leap of faith his son had asked of him. And here he was again, still asking for that faith.

Stoick’s shoulders sagged. “Aye. I know it doesn’t feel right. None of this does.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “But they won’t touch him while I’m here. You have my word.”

Gobber clanked up behind, shaking his head as if still annoyed. “Bah. Villagers can shout all they want. Not like they’ve got the guts to march through this storm anyway. Don’t you worry, Toothless lad, I’ll knock the sense back into ‘em if I have to.”

That earned a small, weary huff of air from the Night Fury, his eye closing again as he nestled deeper into Hiccup’s lap. Hiccup stroked his head, relief loosening the tension in his chest just a little.

“See, bud? Not just me,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”