Warning: Character death. HTTYD2 spoilers. This was not written with those who haven't watched HTTYD2 in mind (it would be too long and redundant if I did), so you will get confused if you haven't.

Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train Your Dragon, 1 or 2.

Why I wrote it is explained after the story. Any stories published before this one with similar ideas (which I'm sure there will be at least a couple) is purely coincidental.

Sometimes, a second could mean a lifetime.

The white Bewilderbeast bravely fought, tusk to tusk, one of his own kind to protect the land and creatures whom he greatly cherished. The powerful beasts dueled in what seemed to be an endless stalemate, each strong and determined-relentless: eyes fierce and roars savage. But, in the blink of an eye and in a moment of hesitation, his opponent had taken the upper-hand and pushed him down to the ground. No screams were emitted, and no gasps either, as Drago's Alpha dragon dove its chained, rough ivories into the defeated Bewilderbeast.

An Alpha had fallen.

That day wasn't the only time a life was lost by a missed opportunity. Stoick the Vast, a burly, hairy man, noticed something horribly wrong: Hiccup had the nerve to face Drago (he should've known), without any sort of intention on defending himself. Instead of feeling his stomach twist in anger, however, his mind was overcome with worry and fright for his son. He bolted forth, fearing of what Drago was capable of doing to that talking fishbone of a Viking. His eyes fell on some thick wooden pole, held up by a single measly rope, whose path if cleared will cut his travel by a good minute. So, with all his might he swung and released his axe, aiming at the cord. To his dismay, he missed by a minisimal length. It would be a costly miss.

With a dissatisfied grunt, Stoick ran up to the weapon that was deeply lodged into the timber and attempted to pull it out. For a Viking who could crush rocks with his head, this was no big deal, and surely, the axe was back in the chief's hand in the blink of an eye. He swung down, cutting the rope, thus finally giving him the path needed to get to Hiccup as soon as possible. He hopped and jumped over rocks and splinters of wood, and a glance towards the situation unfolding some ways ahead of him revealed a worse chance of survival for his son. The beloved Night Fury had lost control of himself, and under the control of the Alpha, turned against Hiccup. And, poor Hiccup, could not-would not-fight back. Dodge, boy, dodge! This small of piece of advice was simply common sense, but rarely abided by, and of which Hiccup definitely did not hear.

"Hiccup!" Stoick's voice boomed through the chaos that had dwindled after the white Bewilderbeast's defeat.

"Dad! No!" Hiccup, panicked, turned his attention to his father who had run to come to his rescue. A second he took his eyes off of Toothless was the second the unholy offspring of lightning and Death released his deadly blast.

No, no, no-this can't be happening! These words echoed within Stoick the Vast's mind as the scene unfolded in agonizing clarity. Could this be a trick of the mind? He saw, light as day, the Night Fury's blue, purple-ish plasma headed straight for his son, hit him square in the chest, and knocked him back into the icy wall behind.

"Son!" Stoick cried out, his heart swelling with anxiety. Hiccup would be fine, right? That scrawny little kid was tougher than he looked. After all, not any viking could easily claim to be the first "Dragon Rider". Right?

The worried father dove at his child's body, laying unconscious on the cold, hard floor. Frantically, he cleared the ice chunks that pinned the boy down, and hastily cradled the limp body close. This would be a simple repeat of that scene from five years ago, when he thought Hiccup was dead after defeating the Red Death. Right? Stoick will hear the soft "thumps" that will resound across Hiccup's chest, signaling that everything will be fine and dandy. He threw his helmet to the ground and pressed his ear against the youth's chest, waiting, listening, hoping. Two seconds of silence had passed. Just a little longer-the heart beat should be here any moment now. Any… No… It can't be.

"Hiccup?" A soft cry escaped through the burly man's lips, filled with sadness and disbelief. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, respond to me, you-" Stoick shook the body in his embrace, but he knew that he would receive no reply. Nothing from that smart-mouthed, stubborn son of his, the first and finest dragon tamer and rider Berk has ever seen. Tears welled up in the sorrowful father's eyes. If only he could've saved his beloved son. If only… If only his axe didn't miss, maybe he could've made it in time to save him. That second-that single second-was a missed opportunity to see his smiling and proud son ride through on Toothless' back over the cozy houses of Berk. Why?

"My son…" Stoick cried. Behind him, his wife Valka had just arrived on scene, along with Astrid, both stopped and gasped at the scene, both in complete disbelief. One lost her son whom she had left for twenty years, another lost her caring boyfriend. The mother collapsed to her knees and shuffled over, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks from the cold, reaching for her child. She shook, she agonized, but she made no sound-Valka just stared at her beautiful Hiccup. Her nails softly grazed the boy's forehead and dove into his hair, feeling the last of his warmth leaving the body.

The only person who could stop them from wallowing in despair was Drago, whose smirk was as venomous as that of a black widow spider. He laughed, celebrated, over the victory he had achieved on this cloudy day.

"I have killed the Alpha!" Drago yelled with his broken voice of his to the sky. He laughed and threw his arms up, swinging his weapon over his head. "This, this is what happens, Stoick, when you dare to go against me, the Dragon Master!"

Stoick was too tired, too disheartened to say or do anything. Poor, poor Hiccup. It was just unfair. There was absolutely no way he could've fought back, or even defended himself against Toothless. The dragon was his first and best friend, and Hiccup truly believed in Toothless and the good of people. He believed that, at the last moment, the Night Fury would be able to snap out of it and return to the kind and dorky little dragon he had always been. Hiccup believed in Toothless until the end.

"This is all your fault," Stoick whispered under his labored breaths. His eyes, stern, glancing directly into Toothless'. The dragon was confused, perhaps curious, sniffing and poking at the cradled body in Stoick's arms. Why was his rider sleeping, so motionless?

Slowly, Hiccup's body was settled onto the ground, and no one could've predicted what would come next. "It's not hi-" Before Valka could finish her sentence, Stoick had grabbed the nearest, biggest piece of ice he could grab hold of, and with a pained war cry, he charged at Drago. He had lost it. Channeling all his might, turning the sorrow incurred from a deep, great loss into wrath and anger, he threw the icy chunk in his hands at Drago. Let it miss, let it hit, Stoick didn't care: all he want was the head of his now-sworn enemy.

"I-" Stoick slid on the ground to pick up the nearest weapon, a hammer, and once again faced Drago. "-will-" His voice bellowed with anger. "-kill you!" He roared once more, and swung at the egotistical Drago, who was surprised (which he shouldn't be). He only had enough time to block the hammer from meeting his not-as-strong skull, but nevertheless was knocked a couple steps back from the strength of the impact. "My son-" Stoick swung again. "-is dead!" Drago could not react fast enough to the chief's madness. "Peace-" This time, the Chief of Berk summoned all of his strength and finally hit Drago to the ground. "-is dead." His enemy, cornered, fled the scene on a dragon's back. Stoick's gut told him to finish the scarred man off, but his knees were buckling and his mind hazy, himself stumbling.

He saw, from the corner of his eyes, the struggling Toothless under the control of the Bewilderbeast trying to join the ranks of Drago's dragons. No. One word came to Stoick's mind. With the best of his capabilities, he launched himself at the Night Fury and pinned him down to the ground, preventing him from ever taking off. "You are not helping the madman. You are not going to kill anybody else. And most importantly, you will never again betray us." The dragon thrashed under his weight, but Stoick would not give up.

Dragon scoffed. "I don't need that crippled excuse of a dragon anyway," he spat, then rode off to invade the peaceful island of Berk.

Even after the madman was long gone, Stoick did not release Toothless from his death-grip. He held the Night Fury, pretending that Hiccup was alive and well, that Toothless had yet to blast his son with his deadly plasma. He started sobbing, his strength and pride torn to shreds, shaking, all while Toothless laid still. The father flashed back to all the quarrels and petty fights, to the events of Red death, to everything Hiccup was and was not. He will miss patting his son on the back and telling him, "Well done, son!" He will miss glancing up at the sky and waiting for Hiccup to come home. He will miss the dinners during which Hiccup could go on and on and on about his map. He will miss anything and everything, for his son was gone.

A warrior had fallen.

I'm so fucking sorry.

The story idea came from an online multiplayer game called Town of Salem, a murder mystery game. My awesome friend and I were playing it the other day, derping around, etc. I usually set my alias as "Toothless" and she "Hiccup". Long story short, I, as Toothless, was a baddie and she, as Hiccup, was a goodie. It ended with Toothless murdering Hiccup. Later that night she told me, "omg now I'm thinking about what happens if it was Hiccup who died instead of Stoick. OMG YOU HAVE TO WRITE IT." And I was all, "OKAY."

So there you go.

Please R&R, and I might turn this into a series (edit: it is now!). Because, let's be honest here, I created too many plotholes, and the series of events from here on out will completely diverge from those of the movie.