Ok. I don't know how to say this so I'll just be as blunt as possible. Toothless dies. Yeah. What started as an urge to see Hiccup become what his village wanted for a Chief turned into this. Sorry? It's odd because I don't do dark and this is kind of dark. I do like deep though so it'll probably mellow out across the next couple of chapters. ON TO THE STORY!

I wish I owned HtTYD.

"Woah… I-I did it! This fixes everything!" Hiccup was ecstatic! All his life he had been looked down upon. "Hiccup the useless, why does he even try?" To know that he had taken down a Night Fury was like validating his existence. Finally he could make his father proud. Finally he would get some respect! Who could blame him for wanting to brag a little?

He rested his foot upon the large black dragon and said, "I have defeated this mighty beast!" only to be shaken off by a loud snorting. Great Odin, it was still alive! Hiccup sat on the ground facing his newest dilemma. He had never been in a situation where he could even fight a dragon, let alone kill one. Faced with the real thing he was slowly realizing that this might not be what he wants.

"No," Hiccup stood. "I am a Viking!" Killing dragons was in his blood. The Haddocks had been fighting dragons since his namesake first founded the village! He pulled his dagger from his fur vest and stared at the Night Fury, a strange rage suddenly taking over him.

"You hear me, dragon! I'm going t-to cut your heart out and bring it to my father! I am a VIKING!" The last word was roared in what was the loudest Hiccup had ever been. His vision red, he stepped towards the dragon, determined, and once again rested his foot upon it. His blade raised like a guillotine, ready to do the deed, only to pause again, a sense of wrongness pervading him.

He wouldn't do this. He couldn't do this, could not kill this dragon. He didn't want to kill. He didn't want this thing's blood on his hands. Hiccup felt like crying. He could not honor his father or his village. He was not a Viking. He looked into the Night Fury's eyes, hoping for something that would fix this and froze.

His being chilled, he did not understand. There was none of the ruthless bloodlust, none of the urge to kill and slaughter that he had always imagined. But maybe that was the issue. He had always thought of dragons as monsters, beings that killed humans simply because they could and loved it.

In his naivety, he had imagined Vikings as your typical heroes, defeating the big bad dragon and getting the girl. It was silly but Hiccup was just a teenager, one who had been starved of attention and general friendliness for a long time. He lived in his fantasies because more often than not reality was a too hard to bear. It was the only way to keep up what little optimism he had left.

Looking into those eyes, he realized that in a way, this was worse. There was no hate or love, no distain or compassion, no intelligence, just fear, because no matter how much Hiccup wished it wasn't so, dragons were just animals. They knew how to survive and they feared death. That was all. If he let this thing go now, it would do what its instincts told it and remove the threat. He would die; it would go back to raiding villages and killing humans because that's what it had to do to survive.

And in some ways they were the same, because Hiccup would also do what he had to do to survive. Deep down, he feared death as well, for both him and his villages because though they had never respected him they were still his people, his family. It was sickening, how similar they were. He wanted nothing more than to run away from this, this nightmare but those ropes would weather eventually and more of his village would die. It would be his fault and he could not bear that just like he could not bear to kill.

But Hiccup would do anything to protect his family, even stain his soul with a Night Fury's blood.

So Hiccup once again raised his blade and this time the guillotine would not be stopped in its path. There was a dull thwack and a great keening met the air as the Night Fury shuddered. It took one last gasp, made one last shake then stilled.

Something wet struck Hiccup on his shoulder. Another met his face just below his eye. The sky had turned gray and it was pouring. Hiccup could not bring himself to care. He felt empty, drained like the water out of the tubs the women used to wash clothes in the morning. Only he wished he could be that water. He wished he could be dumped into the sea and washed away.

He looked up. Maybe it was a good thing it was raining. Then no one would notice his tears. Maybe the gods were crying too, joining him as he silently mourned his lost innocence.

It was night by the time Hiccup got back home. He closed the door softly and trudged upstairs. The fireplace was crackling and his dad was sitting in his chair, a large shadow cast behind him. His feet stilled as he heard his name called.

"We need to talk." Hiccup turned back to face Stoic, eyes dead. His entire countenance spoke of his weariness.

"I think it's time you learn to fight dragons." Still Hiccup said nothing. The silence was eerie for Stoic. He was so used to the sharp tone of his son's wit ringing out at him. They had always been a little awkward around each other ever since Valhallarama died but it had never been this bad.

Shuffling his feat, he continued, desperate to fill the silence, "You got your wish. Dragon training. You, uh, start tomorrow. You'll need this." He handed Hiccup and axe much too big for him then watched him strain under the weight. Still there was that sense of apathy about him. He took it as a sign that he wasn't really listening and decided that a Father-to Son talk was needed.

Laying his hands upon his shoulders, he said, "This is serious, son. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link and when you carry this axe, you carry all of us. That means you walk like us, you talk like us, and, most importantly, you think like us."

"No more of –this" He gestured to his son. "Deal?"

Hiccup closed his eyes feeling the weight of his father's words like the weight of the axe in his hands. Was it not enough that he had killed for his village? To ask that he give up what was left of his youth, of his person, after he had already given so much, wasn't there something wrong here? But he had no choice. He would not be a weak link. Hiccup would do what he had to.

His father repeated the question, "Deal?"

Hiccup opened his eyes, silently reminding himself that he was a Viking, and replied, "Deal."

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