Toothless growled at his hatchling's sire. If he even deserved such a term. The Night Fury lived up to his species' name, looking for all the nonexistent eyes like the beast Stoick thought him to be.

Well, I shouldn't say nonexistent. There were eyes gazing at Toothless (who was not living up to that name). A singular pair belonging to one man: Stoick the Vast.

The chief was flabbergasted. Why wouldn't the dragon let him nearby his son?

It had been three days. Three days since the Kill Ring fiasco. Three days since the suicide mission. Three days since Hiccup and his Night Fury killed the Red Death.

Three long, nerve-wracking days. And Stoick was very, very rarely allowed nearby his own son.

Perhaps he should've memorized the Book of Dragons. Or, more specifically, a single aspect:

Dragons take grudges to the death.

Toothless knew that's what the manual said. He knew it was wrong; dragons carried a grudge until they felt even with their rival. (A Whispering Death has teeth marks from long ago, and Toothless planned on giving more if their paths ever crossed again for they could never be equal.) But when would he ever get even with this human?

His rider was good, even though he was human. (He's got the heart of a chief, but his soul is a dragon's.) His hatchling had well earned that name: a little too trusting, naïve, and nothing short of downright stupid. But Toothless was too, so he forgave that. His rider's morals were in the right place. ("I couldn't kill him because he was as frightened as I was. I looked at him and saw myself.")

But this man… Toothless didn't know him. His scent was faint on his hatchling, there enough to tell him that they shared a living space but gone enough to tell him that it wasn't very often. Toothless didn't even know if those times they spent together were done willingly or if convenience and standards forced their hands. ("This is feeling awfully one sided!") But even two-limbed-story-man had more scent on his hatchling than his own sire. While it wasn't uncommon for humans as a whole, it was uncommon for those the age of his hatchling.

But Toothless's distrust ran a bit deeper. His rider reeked of despair and sorrow and confusion and something Toothless had only experienced once, back in the cove with no left tailfin and no human-made one either. ("Why don't you just… fly away?") His rider felt lost. But there wasn't time, the Fallen Queen had awakened but it was always Night's duty to put someone to sleep. But Night needed Fury to take down the tyrant dragon and so the duty fell to Toothless and Hiccup, balancing the other out. (Even strength must bow to wisdom, and when did his hatchling get so wise?)

Then came fire and flame and never before was he terrified of his own element but Hiccup's (he hated that name for his rider, he really needed to come up with a new one) words from oh so long ago (could it have only been two weeks?) rang inside his mind.

Not so fire proof on the inside, are you?

Humans weren't fire proof anywhere, not even with the strange shells he had heard were called "armor". His hatchling's voice sounded once more, but only one word.

No. NO!

Horror and fear and disbelief then- nothing.

Silence. And then for three days, hardly even a finger twitch.

All because of beard-hammer-loud-scent-man.

Toothless would, eventually, realize that blaming the incident on Stoick was stupid, although possibly accurate. Choices lead to certain paths, and this was the one that he and his rider had chosen. All dragons knew this and could, usually, come to terms with the paths they chose. (Who am I to argue with history?)

But we're not looking at Toothless down the road. We're looking at what he's doing right now, and what he's doing now is preventing Stoick from coming nearby his son, like he has been for three days.

Rarely was Stoick granted access to his child, looking even smaller than he was. Only the fact that he had food or medicine or bandages would grant him access. He wasn't allowed to see his son because he wanted to. No, the dragon decided, the man needed more than eighteen words to apologize for what he'd done. ("You're not my son.")

A part of Toothless argued, in his rider's voice, that he should at least try to get along with this man. His hatchling had accepted the words. Shouldn't that be good enough?

And it should, Toothless realized. The actions were done to Hiccup, not to him. He was taking it more severely than his counterpart, but isn't that what people who share a close bond do? Defend each other for wrongs? ("Forgive, but never forget, for then they will take advantage of you.")

Toothless growled once more before becoming less hostile. The prince of night made sure that beard-hammer-loud-scent-man knew that he could kill him in short order if he so chose and that the only reason he didn't flame him right away was lying unconscious just behind the dragon. Only then did he move away, allowing (for the first time) father to approach son with only the intention of touching him. Not to heal him, just to touch. Assure himself that his son was alive, possibly. ("He's alive! You brought him back alive!")

Toothless didn't need touch. (Drawings in the dirt during magic hour, a hand extended and hand turned away. Slight hesitation then resolution, and black scales touched skin for the first time, but only after food and a nap and time.) He just needed the steady sound of his rider's heartbeat. The sound was strong when he chose to listen for it, beating along in a natural rhythm.

Hiccup equated to runt in these parts. He hated that name for his rider. So maybe he didn't fit into Viking standards, but he wasn't just some turbulence in the sky. He was far more than that. He was a friendly gust, one that would raise you up when your wings were tired and allow you to glide. One that would push you forward when you needed to go somewhere, or perhaps just leave. He was understanding and compassion and passion and forgiving and loving and... and…

Here was something that Toothless had recently been introduced to. Something that made his body buzz and filled him with energy and determination to do impossible things ("Alright bud, let's take this nice and slow!"). The dragons hadn't been able to feel this emotion in eons, but Toothless remembered the name.

Hope. His rider was strong because he was Hope.

Pleased with his decision, he curled nearby the bed, ears listening for anything dangerous. Hope was new and fragile for now… but it gained strength quickly and would soon be able to hold its own. ("It's more than just new beginnings.")

But its embodiment needed protected… just not from the large man that was simply looking down on the child, so grown up, a wise old dragon that would be released in time. (Funny how it always boils down to that one little-big word.)

Toothless didn't block Stoick from Hiccup again. He just hoped that one day he would be able to come to terms with the man.

(It happened just two days before Hope woke up. The large man gave him a fish.)

A/N: I needed something of Toothless: I had already presented his uncomprehending of Hiccup's ability to forgive people. So why not have Toothless show his struggle with that word?

Also, those quotes are random but fitting. Some of them came from movies or TV shows, others my own experiences, and some are from books or my own works. More still are just truths I've come to acknowledge.

I apologize for any confusion regarding the multiple parentheses. But I like the little add-ins.

In explanation for the odd time sense Toothless has, I have a belief that since some dragons live very, very long lives that they just know time and teach it to young ones, though Toothless didn't really remember the lessons until later.

Furthermore, I hated whenever I was writing Toothless's POV and I had to use Hiccup. I get that it's his name. But the traditions behind it is why Toothless doesn't like it, so he was trying to come up with a name for Hiccup, but you know, the whole Kill Ring fiasco and giant ass queen dragon kind of put a damper on name searching.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.