A/N: I'M STILL ALIVE I PROMISE PLEASE DON'T EAT MY TOES! Okay, guys. I know it's been a loooooong time. And this chapter is EXTREMELY SHORT and kinda crappy. But I just needed to post something on here to let you know that it has NOT BEEN ABANDONED!

PS: I will probably rewrite this at some point so please don't judge the badness.

...

Stoick ran hand down his face and leaned forward. The table groaned under his weight, the scrolls atop it shifting slightly. His vision was starting to blur from exhaustion, the intricate lines of the maps bleeding into one another. He squinted his eyes, struggling to focus his vision. But just then, a low, whining grumble resonated towards him. Stoick looked up and peered into the darkness. His heart skipped a beat as a scaly figure seemed to materialize from the shadows, lithe and stealthy as a cat. Toothless's green eyes regarded Stoick with something akin to accusation. Stoick shook his head,

"Aah…" he grumbled, "Don' look at me like that, you oversized kit. You know Hiccup's off for the day."

Toothless mewled and slumped to the floor, resting his face over his paws. He gazed up at Stoick with big eyes.

"That won't work, either," Stoick replied with a raised eyebrow. Toothless closed his eyes and sighed deep in his throat, his nostrils flaring. His scales glowed in the dim light emanating from the candles, and Stoick had a sudden sensation of his hands going cold. A dragon was sitting on his living room floor. And he was talking to it.

When exactly had this become his life?

Stoick almost jumped when he heard the door open behind him, and a blast of cold wind blew against his back.

"Hullo," a voice greeted.

"Evening, Gobber," Stoick replied, walking over and closing the door behind him.

"Any luck?" Gobber inquired, reaching behind to snag his cloak with his hooked hand and lift it off his shoulders. Stoick rubbed his eyes wearily, allowing a small bit of his true exhaustion to show through,

"Not really," he said honestly, indicating towards the strewn mess of parchments on his dining table, "Berk is an island. The invaders could come any which way they pleased."

Gobber scratched his chin thoughtfully,

"Have we heard from the outposts?" he asked. Stoick nodded,

"They're ready to defend. But…" he sighed and crossed his arms, glaring at the scrolls.

"You're not sure if they're strong enough?" Gobber finished graciously. Stoick gave him a pained look,

"Aye. I wish it weren't so, but," he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, "I won't lie…I'm not as confident as I'd like. We don't have a large enough fleet to patrol every coast."

Gobber chewed his lip with one tooth,

"Is there anything…you know, extra we can do?" he forced a smile and punched Stoick in the arm, "Beef up security a bit and all that." Stoick smiled at him gratefully,

"Perhaps, though-"

"HELP! Help, somebody, please help me!"

A frantic voice sounded from outside, followed by a rush of other ruckus and worried cries. There was a crash, and then a scream.

Stoick and Gobber shared a worried glance, than sprinted from the house out into the steadily blowing snow. What they saw left them both stunned for a moment.

One large cart of about five others was overturned in the snow, its contents of chilled dragon scales scattered through the ice. Stoick internally groaned. Every month, a few unlucky Vikings were charged with clean up duty, gathering all the numerous scales which had been shed over the past few weeks to be given some sort of convoluted purpose. So far, they had been used as plates, shovels, even hats. Stoick was somewhat wearied to admit it, but they had yet to be turned into a truly valuable resource.

But the frosted pile of glittering dragon armor was not what was important at the moment. A small crowd of villagers was quickly gathering as they left their homes to the see the commotion. And a small figure, panting and flushed, was stumbling and gesticulating violently in the middle of the serene downfall,

"Somebody, please! I need help! He's hurt, I can't-" Astrid's wide, helpless eyes alighted upon Stoick and Gobber, and she rushed forward in a furious sprint. She slipped however, and stumbled through the slush to collide with Stoick's stomach. He steadied her by her shoulders, and pushed her out in front of him,

"Astrid, what's wrong?" he said. She grasped his elbows, and Stoick felt a dagger touch his heart at the fear in her eyes. And he instantly knew.

No.

But Astrid couldn't hear his silent plea. Her panicked gaze locked firmly onto his, and she drove the dagger in,

"It's Hiccup," she choked, "He…he fell."

…

There was a moment of silence, one that Astrid felt every agonizing second of. Every single one was crucial. The longer they waited, the more danger Hiccup was in.

"STOICK!" she finally cried in fury, and the man's stunned eyes snapped back into focus,

"Gobber!" he yelled, straightening to his full, immense height, and the man hobbled over, his face full of worry.

"Chief…" he started.

"Get Agra."