Where the Frost bites back

by Rita_hlbk

Summary:

In a twist of fate, it isn’t the Man in the Moon who saves Jack but an ancient Bewilderbeast, drawn to the boy’s good heart and selfless sacrifice. Reborn as a rare frost-scaled hybrid with shimmering wings and piercing glacial eyes, Jack awakens with fractured memories and instincts that scream of both human and dragon.

 

Cast out by dragons and feared by humans, Jack drifts between two worlds, until he stumbles into a ragtag bunch of oddballs who look at his wings, frost breath, and memory loss and go, “Eh, we’ve seen weirder.”

Notes:

Chapter 1

Memory: Missing
Wings: Present
Dignity: Debatable.

(This is my first fic in my third language, please be gentle)

Some drawings of what i imagine jack lookes like in this universe.
https://www.deviantart.com/artemisz16/art/When-the-frost-bites-back-art-1211903622

Chapter 1: Memory: Missing. Wings: Present. Dignity: Debatable.

Chapter 1

Darkness, that's the first thing he remembers. It was dark, it was cold, and he was scared. But then he saw it. It was so big and so bright, it seemed to chase the darkness away. And when it did, he wasn’t scared anymore.
Why he was there and what he was meant to do, that he didn’t know. Part of him still wonders if he ever will.

 

He staggered onto the ice as the creature behind him vanished beneath the surface. Moving chunks ice like they were leaves in a water basin. A startled grunt escaped his throat. He rushed to the water's edge, but before he could submerge his feet, the surface crackled and froze solid beneath him.

Claws?

He fell backward in surprise, a puff of frozen mist spiraling around him. He tried to stand on two legs, but his body felt off-balance. Instinct took over, and he shifted onto four limbs. Something brushed behind him. He turned—and there it was: a long, elegant tail of white and shimmering blue, carving patterns into the snow.

A single word echoed in his mind.
Dragon.
The thought chilled him more than the cold.

Turning slowly, he watched the tail swish again. With a cautious shake, he tested it. Yep. That was definitely part of him.

A grin crept across his face as he gave a few test hops. Snowflakes exploded into the air with every bounce. His eyes lit up in wonder. He stretched his limbs further, wings unfurling for the first time. He wavered, then slowly opened and closed them as if they were sails catching the wind. His grin grew into a breathy laugh.

He began bounding across the ice, feeling it thicken beneath him with contact. Claws dug into the surface. Jump after jump, he rose higher. Wings beating uncertainly at first then harder, stronger. He tipped sideways, landed face-first, and skidded across the slick surface with a gleeful holler. Shook himself off. Then he took to the air once more, this time with real momentum.

He soared and soared, climbing, pushing against the wind faster and higher. With no real concern for the snow or the cold, until he broke through the cloud layer. The fog and silence gave way to an endless canopy of stars. Up here, everything slowed. His breath caught. The stars were so close, so vivid -

Until they vanished. He’d forgotten to flap.

Laughter burst out of him as the wind caught his wings and sent him tumbling downward in joyful chaos. He twisted in the air, letting the cold soak through him like a second skin. Then there it was. A light, flickering in the distance.

People.

He swooped downward, clumsily landing in a snowbank on the edge of a forest. Snow fell heavily around him, but the voices were close, inviting. He bounded towards them with childlike excitement.

And then. They screamed.

Sharp objects whizzed through the air. Past his head. He tried to speak, but the sounds that came out were unfamiliar to his ears. He understood their words but he couldn’t form them himself. Another arrow, this time it connected too. So he ran.

He learned quickly, humans didn’t welcome him. Neither did other dragons. At least dragons gave a warning. Usually.

The younger ones from both species sometimes showed curiosity, but their encounters never lasted long. Nothing ever went deeper than fleeting glances.

He grew cautious.
The Years passed along with the seasons, he stopped counting after the first few winters.

He made an island his home a quiet, dragonless place. Spent his days un relative calm, making tiny snow or stone sculptures depending in the season. At least, until a newcomer arrived: a mother dragon seeking a safe lagoon to hatch her young. Usually he would scare off most dragons not wanting the inevitable clash with them. Better to establish its his home early. But he couldn’t do that to a new mom.

Jack watched from the cliffside as she nudged her eggs into the water. Moments later, four tiny hatchlings broke the surface like playful seals. Not that he “panicked” when he thought they might be drowning. Nope. Definitely not. He didn’t step out from the shade of the cliff with the intention to dive for the babies, despite the fact that he can’t actually break water surfaces properly. That would be idiotic.

Naturally the mother spotted him. Puffed a low warning, positioning herself protectively. Dejected, but not surprised Jack backed off.

Fishing was next on the agenda. A disaster, as usual.

Every time he reached into the water, it froze solid around his claws. Using his face wasn’t much better, soaked face equaled scraping ice for the rest of the day. Not ideal. Berries and small game remained his best bet. Plenty of that on the island. He steered clear of the strand of beach nearest his cave. That entrance was a little too close to the new family’s comfort zone.

Still, Jack watched.

The mother guarded the lagoon like a true protector. She gave more and more annoyed Huffs at Jack. So he started calling her Huffjaw in his head.

Since that first awakening on the ice, Jack had never managed to regulate his body heat. No matter how long he basked, warmth never quite reached his core. Yet even the harshest blizzards didn’t faze the dragon part of him. His more human-like skin, though that chilled fast.

His cave, tucked deep in a cavern system off the shore, held the warmth he craved. The soft pile of furs he’d found “not” stolen awaited his return. Sunlight used to pour through the crevices, warming the space just right.

But Huffjaw still blocked the entrance.

So instead, Jack sprawled at the far end of the beach. Away from the hatchlings, as far as possible. Every now and then, he had to reposition himself when the frost of his own presence started cooling the sand. He yawned as he settled on his latest spot.
The waves whispered against the shore, making him close his eyes, lulled by the sound. Then… a new warmth. Wet, yer rough wriggly warmth.

He cracked one eye open, cautiously lifting a wing.

The hatchlings were snuggling up against him like oversized, scaly caterpillars. They purred with pleasure in the cold he radiated. He froze - no pun intended.

They didn’t stir, just nestled closer, small sighs echoing under his wing.

They stayed like that for hours. He was the happiest he’d ever been. They sought his presence out and enjoyed it. No way in hell he was gonna end it sooner then necessary. He was content staying here forever if it meen more warm cuddles

When the mother returned, Jack stiffened at the sound of her landing. She bolted towards her children in a panic, steps thundering even on the soft sand, only halting as she saw them. Safely tucked beside him. She sniffed Jack thoroughly, nostrils flaring. He held perfectly still.

After an agonizing minute she rumbled softly.

She took a few steps back, satisfied, regurgitated a pile of fish for her cubs. Jack began backing away when a smaller nudge caught his eye. The mother rolled a single fish toward him.

He blinked, then delicately accepted it and swallowed it whole. A warm trill rose from his throat as the hatchlings clambered back towards him to play.

From that day on, their quiet companionship grew.

Jack adapted. So did they. Days blurred into laughter and pawprints in the sand. Whenever the hatchlings grew too warm, their mother would gently roll them into the ocean, where they flopped into the waves, steam hissing from their scales.
Jack named them after the sounds they made when they touched the water: Crackle, Burp, Whistle and Fizz. He looked after them while mother was fishing.

When visitors (other dragons) unexpectedly neared the island, Jack led the young ones deeper into the tunnels. He showed them a sheltered cave, safe and snug. Not his own, not yet. The tunnels leading there were too narrow, and most of his belongings were, well... flammable. He chased anyone posing a danger to the babies. Only very rarely he lost a battle.

They remained underground on those days. Only the mother ventured out for food. Jack stayed behind, keeping the little ones cool and safe. Tending to his wounds.

And for once in his life, that seemed like enough.

 

Winter rolled in a few weeks later.
This particular storm hadn’t let up for days. Sheets of snow and wind thick enough to cloak a dragon in flight. Jack took full advantage. He launched himself into the clouds, wings slicing through the air as he dove and tumbled through the howling currents. The roar of the wind, the way it tugged at his scales and tossed flurries around him, it was freedom. He let out a screech of delight, banking hard and looping through a gust like he was chasing his own echo.

Just as he began a steep dive, building up speed, a shadow flashed across his path, Fluid and wide and distinctly two headed.

A Zippleback. He smirked to himself.

They weren’t fast, nor were they aggressive. In the rara occasion the passed through his island they seemed playful. And well a little fun never hurt anyone. He aligned his angle, planning to slip neatly between the two swaying necks with a cocky flick of his tail.

But then, contact.

Not physical. Visual.

He locked eyes with the dragon’s right head—and something entirely unexpected looked back.

Not a dragon.

A human.

Panic slammed into him. He twisted midair, wings flaring out too late, and went tumbling backward through the blizzard. His breath came in icy clouds, ragged and sharp, as he tried to gather himself again.

Voices echoed through the frost. Distant. Panicked.

Another shape cut through the cloud, a Nadder.

Jack hissed, low and instinctive. He hated Nadders.

He dropped back into the cloudbank, concealing himself in the swirling white. Another human. A girl. She was saying something- "Tuffnut, stay quiet! We’re supposed to be scouting *stealthily*"

Then her eyes locked onto Jack.

Two humans. Two dragons. Too close. Too dangerous. He couldn’t lead them back to the little ones. And HuffJaw, he had to warn her.

He dove.

One of the riders shouted after him, “Hiccup!” That meant nothing to Jack, and he wasn’t staying around to find out.

The Nadder gave chase, wings sharp and fast. It let out a stream of hot fire, narrowly missing him. Jack twisted midair and blew out a burst of cold fog, flipping upside down beneath them. As the Nadder lunged, spines flew, one slicing into Jack’s shoulder with a jagged stabbing of pain. He snarled and hurled an ice bolt at the Nadder’s tail, freezing the remaining spines in place just long enough to slow it down.

The girl yelled. Jack didn’t wait to hear what. He disappeared into the blizzard, wings stretched wide, gliding silently toward the island.

A high-pitched whine struck his ears, growing louder. Something was on his tail.

He dove hard, skimming along jagged cliffs and weaving through icy pillars. He tried to stop and hide behind pillars but the dark dragon kept locking in on him. He kicked off stone walls to change direction midflight, searching desperately for one of the hidden cracks he remembered, barely more than shadows in the mountainside. A purple blast exploded behind him. Smoke filled the air.

He used that as distraction let more fog seep into the air. He spun, folding his wings, and dove straight into a fissure. Rock scraped his sides, and he slammed into the stone at full speed. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted deeper on all fours, zigzagging through narrow tunnels, until he collapsed in a dead end.

Frost spiraled out from his body in trembling waves, ice crawling up the walls. He tucked into himself, shivering, and let darkness take him.

A gentle croon stirred him.

HuffJaw. Her massive head nudged him softly, and behind her, four tiny forms scrambled forward, cooing and chirping. They curled up against him, their presence calming. Jack exhaled and slumped back into unconsciousness.

Next time he woke he mustered the strength to make it back to his cave leaning on the thunderpede as they slowly made their way through the passages. He flew up on the lest leg where she didn’t fit anymore crudely treated hid wounds then promptly passed out.

When he woke again, it was in his own cot. His shoulder was bandaged, awkward but functional, the rags were discarded in a bloody heap beside him. He lay sprawled across his fur pile, soaking in the warmth… though something about the heat felt off.

Too warm.

He grunted and rolled off, dragging his aching limbs toward the tunnels below. He soared down. The air thickened with heat as he descended. At the lowest chamber, he found them—his little thunderpedes, panting in a shallow pool of molten rock. The room simmered with suffocating warmth.

Jack fired a few shots of frost against the walls, cooling them. Trying to make the heat bearable for himself. He moved closer, letting his ice spread across the stone floor. Steam hissed around his claws. The babies perked up immediately, squealing in delight as they scampered over to him, nuzzling his chilled wings and tail. He hissed a bit at the contact letting even more frost into the air to cool them so their touch would be bearable.

He lay with them for a while, but his mind wouldn’t settle. He didn’t know how long he’d been out—but their mother should have returned by now.

His stomach growled. The little ones looked hungry too.

With a weary groan, he stood and headed back into the snowstorm.

The wind howled against his hurting body, but Jack pushed through, sinking his claws into the snow to drag back a decent-sized deer. Poor stag didn’t stand a chance in this weather, even injured he was in his element. As he neared the cave entrance, he caught something strange in the sky.

Lights.

Not lightning.

Dragons.

Jack froze, then abandoned the deer and launched into the air. Snow whipped around him as he climbed into the chaos above. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Dragons wheeled through the air, some fleeing, others colliding. Flaming projectiles streaked across the sky.

Jack dodged them with sharp jerks and turns, crying out, calling for Huffjaw.

No answer.

Then, humans. The girl on the Nadder. Another rider on a Gronckle. Their attention seemed focused below.

Jack spiraled through the clouds, the temperature plummeting as panic took hold. The snow thickened. Hail began to fall, bludgeoning dragons and riders alike. He could feel the temperature bending around his body, ice forming in the storm’s core.

Then, something new. A dragon he recognized. Broad wings. A rider standing tall on its back, scanning the clouds.

A Windgnasher struggled under them, one leg bound by a rope, tethered somewhere below.

Without hesitation, the human on the dark dragon crouched, then jumped.

Jack reeled in surprise. As wings unfurled from the human’s back.

He burbled in disbelief as a dorsal fin snapped outward from the figure’s form. The human glided with practiced ease, slashing the rope clean before banking back toward his dragon.

And then, a flash of hail struck his wing.

He faltered. Swerved.

The Windgnasher’s tail clipped him midair with a sickening crack.

The human fell.

Without thinking, Jack dove after him.

The storm roared around them. Jack’s wings folded tight to his sides as he gained speed, tail angled to catch the wind. He reached the figure just before the sharp black edge of a ship collided with them. He grabbed him and swerved.

A screech echoed overhead, but Jack didn’t look back.

He veered hard and sped around the island, vanishing into the tunnels once more. Twisting through stone corridors, he carried the figure gently into his den and laid him on the furs.

A crack lined the side of his head. Jack hovered, crooning anxiously. The figure stirred, breathed.

Alive.

Jack let out a heavy sigh and moved to investigate the wound. The scales were cracked and sunken until some of them fell away to reveal…

Hair.

Skin.

Oh. A helmet.

Jack gently pried it free.

A young man—blood streaked across one side of his face, jaw clenched in pain, but breathing steady.

Jack padded to the back of the cave, melting a patch of ice to wet his last remaining cloth. He mourned its loss. Winter made scavenging nearly impossible. Fewer Vikings doing laundry outdoors meant fewer supplies left out to “borrow.”

Still. Carefully, he wrapped the cloth around his claw and cleaned the blood from the human’s brow. The man was mumbling something about how he would prefer hands. Jack scoffed, like he had many options.

When he was finished, he sat back on his haunches, exhaling slowly.

What in the name of thor was he doing?

Helping lost children through a storm was one thing. He was used to the threats and screams. But bringing one here, to his den, puts them all at risk.

Yet…

This human had saved a dragon. Risked his life without hesitation.

And the dragons he traveled with, though he’d only caught glimpses, hadn’t looked abused. They’d looked…bonded.

Jack sighed again, rubbing the bruised spot where the Nadder’s spine had struck him. He couldn’t just toss this one outside. Not now. He’d never survive the storm.

His stomach rumbled. His ears perked up in anticipation. The deer.

He glanced at the sleeping figure, then trotted down to the northern tunnel entrance. The snow had begun to bury the carcass. His jaws and claws got coated in its blood with effort it took to drag it out of its frozen spot..

He hauled the deer to the thunderpedes first. They squealed in joy, burning the meat into sizzling portions in seconds. Jack tore off a leg with practiced ease and left them to the rest.

Back up through the winding tunnels he went, the leg clutched in his tail. He reached the main chamber, halted when he heard shuffling ahead..

He padded softly to the entrance, letting out a curl of cold mist.

The human was standing, flaming weapon drawn.

Pointing at his belongings.

Chapter 2: How to train your… what the hell is that?

Summary:

Hiccup wakes up in what he figures must be a rider’s cave, though the décor screams “solitary dragon with zero patience for nosy guests.” Naturally, his curiosity gets the better of him. Which his host does not appreciate. Turns out, poking around earns you a slap. On todays episode we figure out how many smacks does it take for a one legged Viking to learn some decorum?

Notes:

Chapter 2

Did O absolutely think * this little sign would make stuff bold? Yes i did. Why did i think that? Idk. And im too lazy to take them out. Think of the as bold for now.

How to train your… what the hell is that?

Curiosity froze the viking.

Art:

https://www.deviantart.com/artemisz16/art/When-the-frost-bites-back-art-1211903622

Hiccup was having a rough day.

His father had spent the morning piling more chief duties onto his back, something about legacy and honor, spoken in that booming Stoick way that left little room for argument. Lately, it seemed like every waking hour was consumed by reports, trade manifests, or neighborly relations he didn’t specifically care for.

The Edge’s trade routes had grown over the past year, reaching far-flung islands untouched by dragonkind. And while the expansion was a success, diplomacy remained delicate.
Most of the outer islands had never seen a dragon up close -only dark silhouettes against the moon, the sounds of wingbeat too far away to hear. To some, dragons were still legends. To others, omens.

Still, with the first snow softening the wild edges of the archipelago and winter’s grip growing colder, Hiccup found it easier to sway skeptical elders. A fire-breathing guardian no longer seemed so monstrous when the cold bit deep. When the world turned cold, warmth, of any kind was welcome.

The farther they traveled, the larger the islands became. Tedious negotiations had finally borne fruit, villages now traded grain and lumber in exchange for berks resources. Hiccup had even crafted a tidy little ledger, charting the supplies each island had stockpiled and assigning riders to check in over the coming months. The sturdiest dragons would deliver resources and aid throughout the winter. Berk wouldn’t let any of its allies freeze or starve, not if they could help it.

Hiccup groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, blinking against the fog of exhaustion.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” came a familiar voice.

Astrid’s voice sliced through the quiet as she stepped into the great hall, a tray of steaming food in her hands. She placed it in front of him, grinning as she stole a bite of mutton before he could so much as thank her.

“You’re going to be chief one day, Hiccup,” she said, seating herself across from him. “Part of that job is making sure the neighboring islands don’t hate your guts.”

He sighed and slumped forward
“At least *that* part involves flying,” he muttered.

Astrid frowned at the parchment mountain of half-finished reports and ink stains. “So I guess that means you’re not interested in hearing the incredibly boring details about the Burgess mission?”

Hiccup perked up at the name.

Burgess had always been... complicated. A large and strategically placed island, yet oddly resistant to joining the alliance. Their reason, however, had proven unexpectedly noble: they’d banned dragon hunters from their shores entirely, despite the disadvantage it placed them in among the region’s politics. At first, they’d mistaken Hiccup and his riders for hunters too. The welcome had been sharp-edged and unfriendly. But once the misunderstanding was cleared, and once tales of dragon-saving and hunter-fighting began to circulate, the villagers had thawed. Cautiously, then completely.

“They invited me to finalize the trade deal,” Astrid said, her tone proud but restrained. “And I may have extended an invitation to their leaders to visit Berk in the spring. Thought it’d be good for them to see how we do things.”

Before Hiccup could respond, the great hall doors slammed open with dramatic flair.

“Come on, she needs to keep you on your toes!” Tuffnut bellowed as he barreled in.

“On the few that you *have*,” Ruffnut added with a cackle.

“Let’s go already!” Snotlout crowed, clanking in with Hookfang just behind him. “Me and my boy are ready to torch some hunter ships!”

Fishlegs skidded in a moment later, barely holding in his excitement. “Did you tell him? *Did you tell him?!*”

Hiccup looked up from the table, eyes brightening. Everyone was wearing flight gear.

“Tell me what?”

“Hunters off the northern coast,” Astrid said. “Burgess sent word. We’re rolling out. Unless you want to stay here and finish your paperwork.”

Hiccup was on his feet in an instant, the mutton abandoned. “Finally. Just give me a second, I need to grab my stu-”

A satchel hit him square in the face.

“Packed a go-bag for you,” Astrid said, laughing as she turned on her heel. “Let’s move.”

“Toothless!” Hiccup called.

The dragon bounded over, headbutting him playfully before dropping into a crouch. In one smooth motion, Hiccup jumped into the saddle. The riders leapt into the air together, quickly becoming small dots on Berks horizon.

After a full day of flying. They made a quick pit stop at the Edge, where Astrid outlined the plan while the dragons rested. The ships had been spotted near Burgess-too close for comfort. The hunters had attempted to come ashore for supplies, but the locals refused them entry. So the fleet pushed northeast, likely in search of a larger, unclaimed island to restock.

Night fell as they followed. Visibility dropped, the fog settling thick over the sea like a shroud. Snow came next, soft, persistent, endless. Finally, they found land that seemed to fit what the hunters might be after.

A sizable island, edged with forest and ridged with hills. It had no settlements, but signs of wildlife and freshwater were apparent from the air. It was perfect.

And it was cold.

Winter had arrived in full force. The island’s interior was blanketed in white, the trees sagging beneath the weight of snow. In the center, a rocky outcrop rose where the forest split into two levels. The wind screamed around its edges, but the overhang gave them just enough shelter.

They landed and made camp.

The snow crunched beneath boots and claws. Firelight flickered across their faces as they unpacked woth quiet conversation, the the mood was more serius than usual. Clouds hung low, choking out the moonlight. They moved with purpose decided on a watch order. They needed as much rest as possible so the dragons can be at full power when they face the hunters.

 

Hiccup took the last watch, perched beside the low-burning campfire while his friends slept beneath the rocky overhang. Dawn was beginning to lift the fog, turning the heavy mists a soft, pale gold. The clouds shifted just enough for the first chill rays of sunlight to glint across the frost.

He stared out toward the horizon, bleary-eyed, shoulders stiff. The world had fallen silent, the kind of silence snow brings, muffling movement and breath alike.

Then he heard it.

A dragon’s call echoed from the trees. Soft, sharp, playful.

He smiled to himself. *Toothless,* probably chasing mice in the snow again. It was the same sound he made when they played together, half mischief, half challenge.

Then he stilled.

Wait. That *was* Toothless's call.

But… not quite.

A chill settled in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold. *A Night Fury?*

That *wasn’t* Toothless. Not exactly. Because he was resting right behind him.

He turned and nudged him, he grumbled in protest, flipping onto his side and slapping Hiccup gently in the face with a paw.

“Come on, bud,” Hiccup whispered. “This is important.”

Reluctantly, the dragon stretched and rose, shaking off snow like a great cat. Together, the two slipped into the sky, gliding low over the island with hardly a sound. They followed the lingering echo until the treeline broke, and just beyond, Hiccup caught the last flash of a white-and-blue tail vanishing into the clouds.

They landed in the fresh snow, Hiccup sliding down from the saddle without dismounting gear, eyes scanning the area.

Tracks.

 

Distinct prints in the frost, unlike anything he’d seen before. The hind legs were shaped entirely differently than the front, and the gait was strange. He couldn’t quite place it.

“Well, that’s no Night Fury,” he muttered, crouching beside the tracks. “But it might be a new species. What do you think, bud?”

Toothless tilted his head.

Right,” Hiccup said, already moving. “Time to get the others.”

He touched down gently near camp and grabbed a shield, clanking his sword against it with determination .

“Wakey, wakey! Time to scout for hunter ships, and, just maybe, a brand-new type of dragon!”

Fishlegs all but bolted upright. “Wait, what? The local topography doesn’t suggest any undocumented species! Was it boulder class? Oh! The minerals here are a *rare* composition of -”

 

“Focus, Fishlegs,” Astrid cut in. The mission is a priority. Let’s set a perimeter first. You and Snotlout circle from north to west and meet us at the southern beach. Me and the twins will take the other side. Toothless and Hiccup scout the interior of the island, keep your ears open. If there’s trouble, you provide backup.”

As the teams prepared, Hiccup flew closer to Fishlegs and Meatlug and whispered, “Check your dragon cards. Might be a mystery class.”

Fishlegs let out an excited squeal, already rummaging through his deck as he and Meatlug lifted off.

Toothless flew steadily, slicing through the mist like an arrow. His ears twitched, muscles taut beneath Hiccup’s saddle. The cloud cover was so dense they could barely see ten feet ahead. Hiccup squinted, scanning for any movement or shape beyond the swirling white.

The fog made everything feel muted, until the twins’ voices burst through.

“Welcome back to the wild north!” Tuffnut cried, his voice booming like a terrible terror call. “Today’s weather? Freezing. Tomorrow’s? More freezing with a side of hypothermia .”

“By the way,” Ruffnut chimed in, “why are you ‘Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the *Third*’? Does that mean there are three of you?”

“If he’s missing a leg,” Tuffnut added, “does that make him like… two-point-nine of a person?”

Ruffnut gasped. “Wait, wait… if *all three* were missing a leg, that’d make *seven*, right?”

“No, no! That would make him *pie.* I *love* pie!”

Hiccup groaned. “Yup. We’re definitely far enough north. See you guys on the other side.”

Toothless banked away as the others cackled, dipping below the cloud shelf to scout the rest of the island alone.

The terrain was vast, lush forests curled around hills and a small mountain at the center. A large River cut through the valley like a silver thread, and animal tracks crisscrossed the snow in random patterns.

The island was teeming with wildlife and fresh water - prime hunting grounds.
It was the kind of place dragons should’ve flocked to plenty of water, food, and high ledges for nesting.

And yet. No dragons.

Hiccup frowned. Either something was scaring dragons away, or something worse, something *eating* them - lived here. His mind wandered to Death Songs and Cavern Crashers. Apex predators. They needed to be careful.

 

He followed the river’s path from its mountain source, hoping to spot any signs of the hunters' presence.

But instead, he found stones.

Small rock towers, river stones, perfectly balanced, some standing nearly waist-high. A few were tucked beside frost-bitten trees, others scattered near the water.
He was almost afraid to land, worried his weight might knock them over.
Curious, he flew farther, then paused, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Snow sculptures.

A snow Gronckle stood at the center of the clearing, flanked by a school of snow-fish shaped from powder. Behind it, three Windgnashes snarled in mock-battle, complete with sticks as wings and icicle teeth.

Hiccup blinked.

“The twins…” he said to no one.

It had to be them. Who else would waste their watch building snow-dragons?

Though… the Gronckle had a degree of anatomical detail he’d never expect from the twins. Fishlegs might have been in on the fun.

 

He sat down and quietly built a tiny Toothless out of snow, carving smooth curves with his gloves. The real Toothless watched, then slapped down a mound with his tail and shoved a few stones into it, clearly his version of art.

Hiccup laughed. “Alright, bud. Back to work.”

They lifted off again, arcing back toward the rendezvous point. The fog was thickening. He could barely see past toothless.

They gliding steadily in the endless cloud layer.

Then, a noise.

Shouting.

Toothless suddenly veered, ears drawn back, growling low. Hiccup leaned forward. “What do you hear?”

He listened too. At first, nothing, then muffled voices. Definitely the twins. But their tone wasn’t playful anymore.

It was panicked.

Toothless bolted forward.

Through the mist, Stormfly emerged, wings flared wide, spinning as she tried to stay aloft. Her tail trailed behind, encased in what seemed to be ice.

“Astrid!” Hiccup called, pulling up beside her. “What happened?”

“Behind us!” she shouted. “Something fired - ”

But Toothless didn’t wait. He screeched, ears flat, and rocketed into the clouds.

They burst through the fog.

The sky beyond was torn by icy wind, and jagged sea stacks jutted from the waves below. The fog here was *different* thicker, moving with purpose, clinging to a presence in the storm.

Then they saw it.

The back of a dragon. A blur of white and blue streaked across the sky, trailing mist like a cloak. It twisted through the air, its body sleek and serpentine. Its movements were too precise, too intelligent.

“Striker Class,” Hiccup breathed. “Has to be.”

They gave chaste.

The creature moved like vapor, weaving between sea stacks at a pace that nearly matched Toothless. Only the Night Fury’s echolocation allowed them to keep up as the fog-cloaked shape darted in and out of view, clever and evasive.

Toothless surged forward, gradually gaining ground.

The dragon slipped between two stone pillars, trying to shake them, but Toothless mirrored its movements, Hiccups armor scraping the walls. They matched its pace for a few precious seconds.

Hiccup reached for his shot.

Toothless fired-not directly, but wide, aiming to cut off its escape.

The plasma bolt hissed through the air-

-and vanished.

The fog swallowed it whole.

When they flew through seconds later, the creature was gone. Not above. Not below. Not hiding in the sea stacks.

Just... gone.

Hiccup and Toothless hovered in the hush that followed, breathless and shaken, surrounded by mist and the silence .

Something was out there.

And it didn’t want to be found.

They circled through the storm, snow stinging their faces clouds rolling low and heavy. Hiccup leaned forward on Toothless, scanning the fog below. Toothless growled in frustration, twisting and turning through the air, but there was no sign of the new dragon. After several more fruitless passes, he nudged gently at the night fury and turned back. Toothless rumbled low in frustration as they descended to the rendezvous point, a ledge half-buried in snow

As soon as they landed, Fishlegs bolted toward them, slipping a little in his hurry. His face was flushed with excitement.

“Did you see it? Did you *see* it?” he asked, nearly breathless. “What was it? Snow Wraith? A Skrill? Come on, come on, gimme something!”

Hiccup slid off Toothless, shaking snow from his hair. He looked dazed, distracted.

“I… I don’t know,” he muttered, voice low. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It got away from us.”

Astrid eyes widened. “It got *away* from a Night Fury?”

Snotlout, arms crossed and brow raised, smirked from where he stood beside Hookfang. “Ha! Losing your edge, Hiccup?” He teased. “Me and Hookfang could have smoked it right out.”

Hiccup frowned, brushing ice off of Toothless’s saddle.

Astrid cut in. “Let’s not forget why we’re here. We need to find the dragon hunters-free the dragons they have before they can get off the island. It’s going to be hard enough in these conditions.”

Ruffnut, lounging sideways on Barf, raised a hand lazily. “Why don’t we just ask the *new rider* for help? Their dragon seemed just fine in the storm.”

Hiccup looked over, confused. “I’m gonna regret asking, but… what are you talking about, Ruff?”

“The dragon and its rider you played tag with,” tuffnut replied, sitting up. “Rude to not invite us. We’re masters of tag.”

Hiccup groaned. “Guys - *focus!*”

“Okay but like,” Ruff said, twirling a strand of hair, “he had dreamy blue eyes, this cool white yak-hair helmet. We should totally wear more fur, it really pulls the outfit together.”

Hiccup blinked. “Me and Toothless didn’t see a rider. I’m pretty sure it was alone.”

Astrid stiffened. Her expression changed in an instant, eyes wide, breath catching. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Stormfly and I - we might’ve shot them down.”

Hiccup turned sharply. “*Astrid?!*”

“It was a reflex!” she said quickly, guilt crashing over her. “They came out of nowhere!”

He didn’t wait for more. “We need to find them. We drove off their dragon. If a rider fell -”

No one responded. The weight of what might have happened settled over them worse them the snow.They took to the sky in silence, the cold wind hitting their faces. No one joked. No one spoke. Each rider scanned the cliffs below, eyes heavy with worry.

When they reached the airspace again, Hiccup hovered. “Okay. Everyone fan out,” he ordered, voice hard. “Fly low. Look for any trace of a rider. Regroup by the cliff in an hour.”

They dove beneath the clouds. Storms roared below them, waves smashing into black rock. No snow. No soft landing. Just jagged cliffs and the relentless sea.

Astrid’s voice came over the wind, tight and trembling. “No one could’ve survived a fall like this.”

Fishlegs sighed heavily. “We might be too late.”

Tuffnut scratched his head. “Maybe it was a bad guy?”

Ruffnut slapped him across the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Felt like it.”

They swept over the rocks, eyes scanning for cloth, a weapon, anything.

Hiccup pulled up beside Astrid, his tone softer now. “Are you sure you hit them?”

She shook her head, her voice small. “I don’t know. But their dragon fired at Stormfly after... I think it was trying to protect them.”

A beat passed, then Snotlout flew up slowly from below. His face was pale, and he held something in both hands.

“Uh... Astrid,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I think this is yours.”

He held up one of Stormfly’s tail spikes, its tip dark with blood.

Astrid stared. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Her hands dropped. Clutch Stormfly’s saddle.

“What have I done?” she whispered.

No one answered. Even the dragons seemed quieter, wings flapping more slowly as they circled the cliffs, picking up on the atmosphere.

After a long pause, Hiccup cleared his throat. “Let’s head back to camp,” he said flatly.

He turned Toothless toward the horizon, his face unreadable. The others followed silently.

Hiccup leaned back against Toothless, the dragon warm beneath him as the cold crept in. His could see his breath in the cold air, but it didn’t slow the tight, angry churn in his chest. Rage. Guilt. The kind that wouldn’t ease with the weather.

They’d been careless… again. Always acting fast when curiosity took over. Like with the Seashocker, when they trapped it in a shallow bay to observe it. When they let it go, its predators were waiting. They barely escaped that mess. And this time...

This time, it was worse.

This wasn’t just a misstep. This had cost a life. Maybe the life of the first dragon rider they’d encountered outside of Berk. Someone they never even got to meet.

He could blame Astrid for firing first. He could blame the storm. But deep down, he knew. If he hadn’t chased the dragon, if he’d given it room, maybe it would’ve reached its rider in time. Maybe they could’ve saved them.

And now… he didn’t even know their name.

He imagined their dragon, alone now, injured, probably scared out of its mind, hiding somewhere from the storm.

Back at camp, no one said much. They landed quietly, dismounted even quieter. Astrid grabbed her axe and walked off into the woods without a word. The twins and Snotlout went to hunt. When they returned, they’d managed a haul of fish and a few clusters of half-frozen berries. They cooked and ate in silence.

Astrid came back long after dark. Her cheeks were red and her eyes swollen, but she didn’t let it show. She sat by the fire and pulled her coat tighter around her.

“So... what’s the plan?” Snotlout asked, lazily poking the fire with a stick.

Astrid didn’t look at him. Her voice was flat, focused. “Same as before. We wait for the hunters. We hit them before they reach the shore, catch them cold and tired. If the storm holds, we use it to stay hidden. Toothless and Hiccup, you two scout for ships. The rest of us prep. They’re not on the island yet.”

She paused. Then softer: “And when we succeed, we help that dragon.”

She stood without breaking stride. “Ruff, Tuff, you’ve got first watch.”

No arguments. They knew her well enough, this was how she coped. By moving forward.

“Everyone get some rest,” Hiccup added. Then glanced at the twins. “And maybe don’t spend the whole watch making snow sculptures this time?”

Ruffnut squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“There were a bunch of snow figures by the river. Thought it was your thing.”

“You *made snow-chickens* without me?” Tuffnut spun around.

Ruffnut blinked. “I didn’t, but now I want to.” She scooped up some slush and lobbed it at her brother.

Hiccup chuckled. But then he paused. “Wait… if it wasn’t you guys…”

He scanned their faces. Fishlegs shook his head, wasn’t him either.

“Who else would it be?” Snotlout muttered. “There’s no one—”

“Oh.” Fishlegs’s voice dropped as he noticed the bloody tail spike in Astrid’s hand. Her grip was white-knuckled, her eyes unreadable.

She stood, eyes on the trees. “I’ll take first watch instead.” Stormfly followed quietly as she disappeared beyond the firelight.

The quiet settled over them again. Even the twins didn’t say much after that. They crawled into blankets one by one, until only the sound of the forest remained.

Hiccup waited until most were asleep. Then he stood and followed Astrid out into the snow.

She was perched on a fallen log just beyond the camp, watching the forest. The moon barely lit the edge of her face. He didn’t speak right away, just placed a blanket over her shoulders. She didn’t move.

“It’s not your fault,” he said quietly.

Astrid scoffed.

He took a slow breath. “We’re all responsible. The snow, the storm… and me. I cut off their escape. I stopped that dragon from turning back.”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking. “They weren’t even hostile. I fired first. I didn’t try to talk, to ask a question. And that’s always been *your* problem, right? That’s what I always told you. That your diplomacy would cost a life.”

Her throat tightened. “And now look.”

She rubbed at her eyes quickly, wiping away tears before they could fall. “This was someone who built snow vikings with their dragon. And I… what kind of person shoots at someone like that?”

Her voice dropped. “There’s no body. Nothing to send to valhalla.”

Hiccup looked away. He’d seen that little snow village by the river. She hadn’t. She didn’t see the care in every shape, the quiet joy behind it.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t resist. Her head rested against his chest, breath shallow. And when she drifted to sleep in his arms, he stayed.
He'd take the rest of the watch. For her. For the rider. For the dragon in pain, out there in the dark.

The next morning dawned gray and silent, thick fog rolling in from the sea like a living wall. Visibility was barely a few dragon lengths, which made flying over the open water a tense, disorienting task. The group split off in pairs, eyes straining through the haze for any sign of the hunters.

After hours of scouting, with nothing but waves and drifting ice below, Hiccup finally spotted them.

Three ships, cloaked in fog and silence, slowly drifted through the open sea. Cages lined the decks, crammed with dragons, some listless, others pacing. Sailors moved between them with heavy shoulders, half-heartedly casting nets into the water. The nets came up nearly empty each time.

Hiccup hovered above, quiet as the mist, and whispered into the cold wind, “We’ll be back.” Then he turned Toothless and raced for the island.

Back at camp, the team gathered around as Hiccup laid out the details. The ships would reach the jagged side of the island by nightfall. With the sharp rocks and worsening weather, they wouldn’t be able to dock easily.

Perfect setup for an ambush.

Everyone got to work, checking straps, sharpening blades, making sure their dragons were well-fed and rested. No one spoke much. There was a focused energy in the air.

Later that afternoon, Astrid slipped away. She didn’t say where she was going, just took Stormfly and vanished for a bit.

She visited to the snow sculptures. The storm had dusted them in a fresh layer, but the outlines were still there, the Gronckle, the small viking figures. She knelt beside the Gronckle and gently placed a cluster of snowdrops at its feet. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was something. She did show a small smile at the Night Fury she assumed has been Hiccup’s doing.

As the sun dipped behind the cloud-covered mountains, they rode out.

The assault began with Hiccup and Toothless marking the lead ship. He sent up a night fury blast as a flare, then dove. The dragons were locked on the upper decks, but the guards were too busy watching the sky. He and Toothless slipped below, tore through the holds, and blasted out the side of the ship. Dragons spilled into the air, roaring and circling as they tasted freedom.

The second ship wasn’t as cooperative. Below deck, the cages were crammed with tiny dragons, Terrible Terrors, Hobgobblers, even a few baby Gronckles. Lock after lock after lock slowed him down. Then he found the Hotburple.

The dragon was snoozing like nothing was wrong, despite the chaos around him. Hiccup practically begged it to move. It blinked, yawned, then grumbled its way out of the hold just as Toothless blasted them an exit.

They launched into the skies again. Above, it was chaos, freed dragons swooping and shrieking, some disoriented, some ecstatic. Toothless spun through the air trying to track the third ship, but the fog and the screaming wind were making it nearly impossible. The jagged rocks below didn’t help either, his echolocation was bouncing uselessly in all directions.

Hiccup scanned the chaos, hearing cheerful croons, cries of joy, and somewhere in the noise, deeper, unfamiliar wails. It was impossible to tell if they were coming from freed dragons, or not.

He couldn’t see his team. Couldn’t hear them. The wind screamed louder now weather turning for the worse, the sea pitching beneath them.

Then he spotted something, a flash of rope, tight around a Wingnasher’s leg, pulling it down toward one of the sinking ships.

“Bud, look for the last ship,” Hiccup said, standing on Toothless’s back.

And then he jumped.

The wings and fins of his suit caught the air, guiding him straight at the trapped dragon. He dove headlong through the hail, cutting the ropes with practiced speed. The Wingnasher kicked free, bolting into the sky.

Hiccup turned to circle back, but a gust slammed into him. The hail came harder now. One chunk caught him hard in his wingsuit. Not enough to break through the leather, but enough to knock him off course.

He was spinning.

He didn’t even see the club tail swing into his field of vision until it was too late.

Then. Nothing.

Darkness. Falling.

But then, cold. Not the cold kind of shock, but something familiar, safe. Claws around him, steady and tight. He didn’t even need to open his eyes.

Toothless had him.

He let himself sink into it. He didn’t need to worry, not yet. He could rest for now. Just for a little while. He sighed, drifting, a heavy weariness pulling him under.

 

Warmth.

That was the first thing he noticed the sensation of thick, soft furs nestled around him, a gentle heat radiating from beneath his aching form. For a fleeting, blissful moment, he thought he was home in Berk, tucked into the hearthside cot in the forge. The he heard something gruff and unintelligible, followed by what he assumed was the uncomfortable scrape of a metal hook against his temple.

“Gobber…” he groaned weakly. “Maybe use the other hand next time, yeah?”

But the voice had no answer. No one replied at all. Silence settled heavily.

He tried to sit up at the lack of response. Pain followed immediately, sharp and blinding, as if Thor himself had struck him with a hammer. He felt like something split through his skull the moment he turned his head. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as his vision blanked under the force of it.

Carefully, he shifted to the side, moving by feel more than sight. Around him: darkness. Not the kind that hints at dawn or the promise of candlelight, this was thick, absolute, and unbroken. He pressed trembling fingers into the bedding, registering the plush resistance of fur… but then they reached rough-hewn stone.

A cave.

Panic flared, dull and foggy. He patted down his torso, relief flooding him at the familiar feel of his riding gear, still intact, and so were his limbs, or at least the ones that remained. His prosthetic leg gave a soft mechanical twitch as he tested it. One hand rose gingerly to his head. He winced at the sticky tangles of dried blood and the swollen bump at the back of his head.

He blinked. No helmet. Wingsuit still outstretched. Something wasn’t right.

“Okay… okay…” His voice sounded foreign, thin, worn at the edges.

Memory clawed its way back. They had been on a rescue mission. An island. A blow to the head. And then, Toothless. Yes, the he had caught him mid-fall. Hadn’t he?

“Bud?” he called, voice echoing back in mocking repetition. “Where are you?”

The reverberation made his skull throb. Gritting his teeth, he folded the gliders back and locked down the dorsal fin. Reaching to his belt with fingers that trembled slightly, he sighed in relief. Inferno, still there.

He drew the blade carefully. One press, and it ignited with a flourish. Orange flame leapt forth, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. He instantly regretted it. The light stabbed into his eyes like needles, and the world tilted. He leaned hard against the wall, breathing through the wave of nausea.

This was definitely a cave, oval-shaped, unexpected in its coziness. The platform of stone where he woke up had furs piled on it, similar to the stone slab toothless slept on at home although this one was natural part of the cave. As he took a step off the ledge, his prosthetic foot landed squarely in a shallow basin of water. He fell. With an inelegant grunt, he landed hard.

Grimacing, he sat back on the bedding to gather his strength. Inferno had fallen nearby, its flame still pulsing like a heartbeat at the cave’s center. Idly, he rested his hand on the furs, then checked under them. Reached into the water basin as well. Huh. The water was naturally heated, perhaps by some volcanic source beneath the island. That would explain the strategic placement of the bedding. Clever. He filed the idea away, something for the back at Edge, perhaps. It would be a useful during devastating winter.

For the hundredth time, or so it felt. He stood again.

 

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted Inferno and extended it again, pushing its light toward the darker corners of the chamber. Rocky outcroppings jutted like sleeping beasts along the walls, and shelves, jutting out from the cave face, held an assortment of clay jars, canteens, and strange bundles of what looked like pebbles and sticks. Or were they? With his vision still blurred, he couldn’t be certain.

He stepped closer, curiosity piqued.

Then, a sound.

A low, resonant clicking, followed by a guttural growl that seemed to seep from the shadows. His blood ran cold. Spinning, he raised Inferno in defense, but the sharp movement sent stars bursting behind his eyes. He staggered, braced against the stone, panting.

From the cave mouth, white mist spilled inward like a living thing. The temperature dropped instantly, breath crystallizing mid-air.

Something was coming, no it was already here.

The mist curled into the chamber like tendrils.. Frost raced across the stone, trailing toward him. And through the fog, two front claws, ice sharp, digging into the stone..

He stared, torn between awe and alarm, as he carefully swayed Inferno. Holding the flame gently, he shifted it side to side, attempting to coax the creature from the fog.

It did not appreciate the gesture.

The growl built into a jagged shriek that ricocheted off the stone. Through the haze, he saw only pieces, a glimpse of two front limbs, claws cleaving into the cavern floor, ice blooming around them in jagged, crystalline patterns. The frost surged forward, stopping mere inches from his prosthetic foot, a clear message.

“Okay, okay, okay, you don’t like that,” Hiccup muttered, crouching and slowly placing Inferno on the ground. The sword hissed as it touched the cold stone, the growl rising in tandem with every inch it moved. Once the sword was still the growling ceased, he raised his hands in a universal show of peace. It was a tense silence.

“It’s okay… I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quietly.

The dragon responded with a softer sound-almost like a question. He could almost hear the tilt of the head. Toothless did that same thing when puzzled.

Encouraged, Hiccup shifted forward, slow and tentative.

A fresh growl warned him back. He instinctively took a step in retreat-forgetting fresh frost on the floor. His foot slid, balance teetered, and he fell back with a yelp, expecting a hard blow from one of the stone shelves. Only to land not on cold stone but on something long and solid… and cool.

A tail.

His gaze shot upward. The dragon was no longer on the ground. It now rested silently on a ledge above, one claw still curled over a an outcroppin. That same tail wrapped around him, lifting him upright. His face was inches from colliding with the natural shelf, he stared stared at the carefully balanced stones, identical to those found by the river.

White tail. The stone forms. Warm fur bed.

This wasn’t a lair. It was a home.

And one of his occupants wasn’t coming home.

He was roused from his thoughts. The tail urged him upward again, lifting him enough to gather his feet under himself. When he stood, the tail drifted back with a wary hesitation, as though unsure if he’d collapse once more. It hovered by Inferno for a moment, then recoiled with a sharp hiss.
A shrill note rang out and brilliant blue light arced from the somewhere above him, hitting the weapon’s flame with pinpoint precision. With a pop and a sizzle, Inferno’s fire extinguished, plunging them into darkness once more.

“Right. No fire,” Hiccup sighed. “Should’ve guessed.”

Another cool nudge pushed him backward. As he shuffled, his legs caught on the stone ledge once again. The tail guided him without force, just insistence.

“Look, I really need to get back. My friends are probably worried.” His voice wavered. “They’re out there looking for me.”

The dragon gave a deep rumble. The tail shifted to his abdomen and nudged, firm, but not harsh, until he sat with a soft grunt on the warm furs again.

“No, you don’t understand, I- ” Whack.

A puff of snowflakes danced across his brow as the tail smacked the back of his head. Not hard, but pointed. Enough to jostle what is definitely a concussion.

He rubbed the back of his head with a wince “Okay, okay. Point taken.”

The fatigue finally hit him. Every muscle throbbed with that numbing ache only a long day of fighting brought. He clicked off his prosthetic and placed it beside the bed with a soft clink. Above, the dragon shifted again, the sound betraying something close to concern.

“Please don’t turn my leg into a chew toy. I’m fresh out of replacements,” he muttered, reclining.

His stomach growled, a low, miserable complaint.

“Oh, for the love of Thor…”

Too tired to scavenge, too blind to search, he curled into the furs… until something prodded his back. Then again. And again.

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

“What now?” he groaned, rolling over. His hand brushed something solid. He poked it, confused, what was that? He sat up and leaned close.

With a sharp crack, a shard of ice burst from the darkness onto the opposite cave wall, casting a pale, glacial glow. His eyes adjusted, and slowly, he made out the object beside him.

Meat.

A leg of game, charred and cold, yet clearly cooked. He picked it up in disbelief, tearing off a piece and moaning softly.

“Oh gods… this is amazing.”

He devoured a good portion piece by piece, lying back as the warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs. “Toothless needs to take notes. This is miles better than raw fish.” His brows furrowed. “Wait… how is this charred? You’re literally an ice dragon.”

But exhaustion won the battle over curiosity, and his musings drifted into slurred mumbling… then sleep.

Jack was absolutely perturbed.

He returned to find the stranger - now wingless staggering through his sanctuary, sword ablaze with crackling flame, examining every inch of his cave as if it were something for sale. His sanctuary had become a spectacle. The urge to take the man to the coldest, dampest crevice in the back of the tunnels nearly won out.

And then-

“I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay.”

The words struck Jack harder than any weapon could.

He hadn’t heard that phrase in… well ever. And yet, something within him knew those words. An image flickered through his mind, unbidden and haunting, a woman, brown curls spilling over her shoulders, face bathed in candlelight. She was whispering gently into the dark, shhh… it’s okay, it’s okay.

It’s okay the boy said.

But how did this human know those words? And why did they rattle something in him?

Jack huffed, irritated by the ache in his chest.

The man was strange, besides the obvious things like the flaming sword and a voice too soft for a warrior. He made his wings disappear. And at some point, he’d casually detached a chunk of himself, placing a piece of metal on the floor and calling it his foot. Was he built like a puzzle? Did he just come apart like that?

Clearly, the man was dazed, slow, blinking, limbs heavy with weariness. After some prodding (and more than a little tail-nudging), he’d finally curled up in the nest of furs and fallen asleep, breathing deeply with a full belly.

Jack didn’t move for a while. He waited.

Not until the stranger was still and snoring softly for a while, did he approach, gently to landing beside him.

The metal limb drew his attention again. Hesitantly, he touched it, cold, smooth, unnatural. His frost followed instinctively, and the metal hissed angrily in response. Jack startled, dropping it with a loud clank. The human stirred.

Jack froze.

Only the man’s face and the non removable leg ( he hoped) remained uncovered. He stared at the latter, brow furrowed, then gently pulled the fur over it, sealing it from view.

He turned to what remained of the deer leg. Only a small portion missing. Wasteful. Jack took rest and devoured it in a few quick chomps, bone almost fully cleaned. Then he gathered up the remains the bone, the bandages now stiff with drying blood and flew through the tunnels into the night. Discarded the bones and cloth by the entrance.

The storm had quieted. Snow fell in soft, listless drifts, and the wind whispered instead of roared. His heartbeat slowed, matching the hush of the world. He climbed high above the cliffs to the ceiling cover of his cave, brushing the snow that had fallen on it with his tail. With a delicate spiral of frost, he reinforced the remaining ice. Now, when daylight came, it would filter through the translucent crystal and spill warmth into the space below.

Maybe… maybe that would be enough warmth without his cot.

He soared higher, the world below vanishing in mist and cloud. Flipping in midair, he flew upside down across the night sky, watching the stars from above the clouds. They shone cold and steady. He wondered absently where Huffjaw was tonight. Was she watching the same stars? Did she know her babies missed her?

The thought made his chest feel hollow.

Sighing, he slipped beneath the clouds once more, descending to the rim of the cave network. A handful of snow served to wipe the lingering deer human blood from his claws… and the faint, unsettling warmth left behind by the sleeping human.

He glided back through the winding tunnels with practiced ease, silent not to wake the semi unwanted guest. When he reached the ledge of his cave, he paused. Plucked one small jar of forest berry’s from his stash and padded over to the cot.

He placed it gently beside the human, just in case he woke hungry again.

Then, without a sound, he retreated to one of the high outcroppings above. He curled into a coil of white, wings folded beneath him, tail twitching slightly with every breath he didn’t recognize as his own.

He tried to ignore the fact that sleep found him more easily this time.

To the sound of someone else’s breathing.

So strange.

 

Hiccup stirred as sunlight spilled across his face - warm and sharp, prodding him from the edge of sleep. He grumbled, half-awake, hand reaching instinctively toward the nightstand for his prosthetic

Stone.

His fingers scraped cold rock.

There was no nightstand. No forge. No home.

A confused frown creased his brow as he rolled to the other side, face pressing into something smooth, cold, and strangely leathery. He blinked through the bleary veil of sleep, expecting to see a familiar black tailfin swatted against his face.

Not this time.

It was blue-white frosted and swaying gently like a flag in a still breeze.

His gaze followed the tail up, past shimmering scales that caught the shafts of early light streaming through the hole in the cave ceiling. The scales shimmered like morning frost kissed by the sun, blues, whites, and pearlescent tones cascading light across the walls of the cave. One leg draped lazily from the ledge above, and the wing tucked near it flexed faintly as the dragon above shifted in slumber. Frostbite he thought, would be a fitting name.

It was breathtaking.

He couldn’t look away.

Soft grumbles rumbled from above. A paw flexed. A wing adjusted. Hiccup’s lips twitched into a smile, a quiet chuckle escaping him. The sound, the shimmer its scales, the privilege of the moment, it was like like seeing toothless for the firs time.

He turned slightly, and his eyes widened.

Nestled beside his prosthetic sat a small wooden jar, filled to the brim with frozen berries. A thoughtful offering. He glanced at the tail twitching beside him, his grin deepening. But the gentle slumber was shifting, the dragon’s body trembled. Claws scraped against stone. The tail thrashed once, twice, and frost spread like a spiderweb across the walls.

Distress.

A soft cry escaped from the ledge above. Hiccup moved without thinking. He reached out, placing a calming hand against the dragon’s tail. There just above where his fingers landed a scorched, angry purple mark. Where Inferno had burned it.

His heart tightened with guilt.

Wordlessly, he stroked the base of the tailfin, slow and gentle, the way he did with Toothless when the nightmares came. He wiped away the forming frost with careful fingers, only for it to reappear, and wiped again. And again. All the while, he hummed softly under his breath, the melody simple, aimless, comforting. With his free hand, he plucked berries from the jar and ate them absentmindedly, enjoying their sweetness.

Gradually, the dragon’s breathing evened out.

The air stilled once more.

Hiccup let his gaze drift around the chamber. Trinkets lined the rocky shelves: a discarded comb, a cracked cup, dried herbs, ghosts of a life no longer here. Someone lived in this cave. And his dragon is now left behind.

He couldn’t leave him(?) alone.

Not here. Not with that solitude they had caused, not with a hunter ship remaining.

He didn’t even notice when the tail beneath his hand stilled.

 

Jack’s eyes opened to the strange sensation of touch - gentle touch.

His mind blanked.

He lay frozen, tail pinned beneath warm fingers, and for the longest heartbeat, he didn’t even breathe. No one had ever done that before. Not like this. Not softly.

Snowflakes drifted from the ceiling as instinctual shift flown through him, and he hadn’t even realized it until -

“Guess that means you’re awake, huh?” the human murmured.

Jack’s heart leapt. He jerked his tail free in surprise, smacking Hiccup squarely in the chest, then yanked it back up to its perch. A sharp grunt sounded below.

Laughter.

A quiet, unbothered laugh. Infuriating.

There was a rumble from Jack’s chest as he glared down from his ledge.

Below, the human reattached his strange metal leg and stood, brushing frost crystals from his tunic. He looked up with an exasperated sigh, just as he ducked back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, uh… how am I going to get you to come with me?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone listening. “You can’t just stay here without your rider.”

Another whine, distant and confused, echoed from the above.

“Not with dragon hunters this close, either,” Hiccup muttered. “Ugh. It’s okay. I’m just gonna meet up with Astrid and the others, see if we can, y’know, lure you out.”

A scoff is all he got.

Hiccup smirked. Talking to this dragon felt unsettlingly like talking to Toothless, except with significantly less body language and way more sass. He imagined, not for the first time, that its lost rider had been just as chatty.

He clipped Inferno back to his belt and turned toward the tunnel. Darkness stretched beyond - cold and absolute. He’d light his sword once he was far enough from the dragon not to give it a heart attack.

“Alright, well… I’ll be back. Promise,” he called softly.

He stepped forward-

And the floor vanished.

His foot hit open air, and he fell, arms flailing wildly-

“WHOA -“

Claws caught him mid-fall, yanking hard against the flight leathers strapped to his chest.

“Okay giant pit of darkness… duly noted- !!!”

He dangled for a moment before being jerked back onto solid ground.

And then he was face to face -

With a face.

A furious one.

Eyes the color of glaciers narrowed into dangerous slits. Ears pinned back. Mist steamed from its nostrils. The creature puffed and growled, gesturing wildly at the edge of the pit. A silent scolding, Don’t go there, idiot.

What truly struck Hiccup silent wasn’t the reprimand, though. It was the creature itself.

It stood on two dragon legs, towering and powerful, but its body shifted above the waist into a human form. Scarred torso, bandaged shoulder. Scaled limbs. Fin-like ears flaring from the sides of its face. Scales trailed along its cheek. But beneath the glimmer and frost, that scowling expression.

…that was a very annoyed young man.

Realization slammed into Hiccup like a hammer.

“WAIT! Astrid shot you!” he gasped, then burst out laughing. “Oh gods, that’s amazing.”

The frost-dragon-boy blinked in stunned offense.

“What?! Can you understand me?!”

A slow, deliberate eye roll.

Hiccups jaw went slack eyes wide, no wonder all the sass, he was *actually* responding. “Wait, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Hiccup. Uh… nice to meet you?”

He extended a hand slowly, smile stretching wide.

The hybrid hesitated, eyes narrowing with suspicion. But then, hesitantly he lifted his arm, stepping back just enough to navigate the sharp curve of his claws.

They were just about to clasp hands-

Stone falling.

A faint sound echoed from the tunnel.

The dragon’s (?) head whipped around.

Face hardened, eyes blazing. A snarl rolled from his chest as he revealed glinting, sharp canines. Then, with a leap, he vanished into the shadowed corridor beyond.

“WAIT—TAKE ME WITH YOU!” Hiccup called after him.

He didn’t get an answer. He keep’s silent to hear what is happening.

He didn’t have to listen hard.

The tremors came soon like thunder in the stone - reverberating blasts, dragon roars, and the unmistakable, electrified pitch of a Night Fury’s charge echoing through the tunnels.

“Oh no, no, TOOTHLESS!” Hiccup’s voice rang out, desperate and raw. He lunged toward the edge of the cliffside wall and began to climb down, hands scrabbling for purchase along the slick rock face. “TOOTHLESS, COME ON, BUD!” Desperate.

He climbed fast, recklessly. Metal slipping on a jagged ledge, throwing him off balance. He fell. Thankfully the impact never came.

With a triumphant roar, Toothless soared beneath him, catching him with precision born of years of doing so. Hiccup clicked into the saddle in a fraction of a second, muscle memory, and patted his best friend’s side.

“Missed you too, bud,” he breathed, stroking the back of Toothless’s head. “Take me to the others. Now.”

In a blink, they vanished into the tunnels, twisting and turning between them, toothless knew where to go. Wings slicing through the air as they flew with breakneck speeds. Light bloomed ahead - glimpses of fire and ice colliding.

“No, no, no—” Hiccup’s heart plummeted.

They burst into the heart of chaos.

Flashes of dragonfire and frigid mist spiraled together, curling like warring spirits in the haze. Roars and snarls mixed into a deafening crescendo. Silhouettes flickered in the debris and smoke.

“STOOOOOOP!” Hiccup screamed, voice straining. Toothless bellowed alongside him, the Night Fury’s cry piercing through the clouded air.

Stormfly shot from out the mist, wings coated with frost. Ice clung to half her side, her tail stiff and frozen. Astrid dropped from her saddle and sprinted to Hiccup, flinging her arms around him.

“We thought you were dead!” she gasped, eyes wide and glistening. “The blood… and the bones-”

Fishlegs landed nearby, followed closely by the twins, who dismounted with more concern than chaos for once. Barf and Belch had a soft dusting of snow on them sneezing after one another. Meatlug seemed unhurt.

“Astrid, listen to me-we have to stop them!” Hiccup gripped her shoulders. “He didn’t hurt me.”

A roar interrupted them. Fishlegs turned, eyes wide. “Hookfang’s got it cornered”

Flames surged from a tunnel. Hookfang lit up like a furnace, roaring in fury. His light was easy to see from afar even through the smoke and mist.

A spray of ice answered, shrieking from the shadows. Snotlout stood nearby, face bruised, hair frozen in a direction, he was hopping with a mix of pain and excitement.

“GET ‘IM, HOOKY!”

“SNOTLOUT—NO! CALL HIM OFF!” Hiccup darted to him, shaking his cousin. “He’s not the enemy!”

For a heartbeat, Snotlout stood frozen—then, relief flickered in his eyes. He wasn’t reacting fast enough.

“Toothless, stop him!” Hiccup shouted.

The Night Fury dove in, unleashing a series of warning blasts. Hookfang skidded back, blinking in confusion. He turned to Snotlout, chewing the air nervously.

“It’s okay, Hooky,” Snotlout soothed. “You did good.”

The others gathered near Hiccup. “What’s going on?” Astrid demanded.

“I’ll explain everything,” Hiccup panted. “But first - we have to check on Frost.”

He rushed back toward the tunnel.

White mist billowed around him. Massive icicles curled from the floor and walls like frozen teeth. His boots and prosthetic stuck to the ice beneath him, he had to tug with every step.

“Frost? Please… give me a sign you’re okay.”

No answer.

He passed over a patch of ice darker than the rest.

Blood. Frozen and thick.

A sick twist of dread coiled in his stomach. He rounded a corner and froze.

There, at the base of the wall, Frost crouched on all fours, chest heaving. Standing above a pool of angry red. His wide, glassy eyes flicked wildly around the room, shoulders hunched as if expecting a final blow. He looked feral, trapped.

“Hey, hey… it’s me,” Hiccup said softly, lowering himself to the ice. “I’m so sorry. I need to help you. You’re bleeding, okay? We have to stop it.”

The dragon boy shrieked again -the same sound Hiccup had heard that first night. His body trembled. Purple burns marred nearly every inch of his scales. One clawed hand clutched his stomach, where blood seeped between his fingers, dripping in the ground.

Flight leathers. They were supposed to protect riders from their own dragons’ claws. But Frost never had a rider.

He was vulnerable. Alone.

“I’m so sorry.”

Hiccup extended his hand, calm, steady. Frost blinked, his pupils shifting. For a moment, they looked human again.

Behind him, Fishlegs rounded the corner and froze. “Hiccup, be careful, snow dragons are resistant to fi—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Astrid appeared behind him. Her axe raised instinctively. Her voice was low. “What is…*that*?”

The spell shattered.

Frost cried out, staggering back into the wall, slipping on his own blood as he tries to back up further. He snarled, a high-pitched whine building in his throat. Light crackled in his jaws, ice about to launch.

“WAIT!” Hiccup shouted, bracing to dodge.

But then Frost blinked again, eyes fluttering, pupils unfocused. His limbs shook. And suddenly, he collapsed.

A relieved sigh from the others. But all hiccup can feel is dread.

“No no no - GIVE ME SOMETHING FOR THE BLEEDING!”

Everyone stood frozen. Then Fishlegs snapped out of it and threw a bundle of cloth. Hiccup caught it and pressed it hard to Frost’s side. Blood soaked the fabric fast.

“Come on. Come on, please -” he muttered, pressing harder.

And then—the cloth froze.

Not just chilled. Frozen solid.

Hiccup moved to pull it off, then paused.

No… this might actually work.

The bleeding stopped.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back.

Astrid stepped forward, voice quiet. “Hiccup… what is he?”

He didn’t look away from Frost as he answered, “You didn’t shoot his rider down, Astrid.”

A pause.

“He never had one.”

A beat of silence.

Then questions erupted, sharp, overlapping, frantic.

But Hiccup’s gaze lifted.

Icicles above them—subtle before—were growing faster, descending like jagged swords. The room was growing colder.

“There’s no time. I’ll explain on the way.”

He stood, urgency thrumming in every step.

“We need to get him to Gothi. *Now.*”

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed! Will update it hopefully with a photo soon!

Comments and suggestions are welcome im still learning!

Chapter 3: Cyro-napping and casual property damage.

Summary:

Go to berk in a panic, leave berk in a panic.

Notes:

Chapter 3

Cyro-napping and casual property damage.

Unconscious dragon hybrids don’t want tea.

The cave groaned under the amount of ice, its walls covered with jagged frost that crept downwards. The stalactites started to look dangerous. Hiccup grunted, straining as he hooked his arms beneath Frost’s torso. The hybrid’s body seemed unnaturally heavy.

“Help me get him up!” Hiccup shouted, desperation raw in his voice. The ice was spreading fast now, webbing across the stone floor.

Fishlegs reacted first. “Meatlug!” he called, and the gronckle charged, unleashing a burst of molten lava to stem the entrance from freezing over, from locking them in.

Astrid closed the distance quickly just as Ruffnut skidded around the corner, her twin a half-step behind.

Is he dead?” Tuffnut asked, utterly unfazed, coming closer and leaning down to peer at Frost’s pale face. “Because if so, dibs on his boots. And his tragic backstory.”

Ruffnut skidded close. “Stand back! I watched a troll birth itself from an iceberg once. I am ready for this.”

Snotlout hovered behind a boulder, peering over it like a anxious chipmunk. “Is he… like, cursed? He looks cursed.”

“Oh, he’s cursed,” Ruffnut said, already elbow-deep in dragon wing. “Probably from ancient magic. Or yogurt. It’s always one of those.”

Astrid didn’t respond. She was opposite of Hiccup’s side, trying to free Frost’s legs. The ice there was different, angrier somehow, laced with crimson, as if his blood stared to freeze. “It’s not the weight,” she muttered. “He’s stuck.”

Together with Hiccup and Ruff, they lifted. Astrid maneuvered farther down Frost’s frame, arranging his wings not to be in the way. Tuffnut took the remaining space. His front limbs cracked free with a reluctant groan of snapping ice. Hiccup gently folded them against his chest to protect them from the hungry ice now reaching upwards.

His hind legs were worse, nearly swallowed. And his tail…the tail would take some serious work.

After the third failed tug, Astrid held out her hand. “Hiccup. Pass me Inferno.”

“No!” he blurted, voice sharp with panic. “No fire. He’s sensitive to it, use the butt of your axe!”

Fishlegs and Snotlout exchanged a look, then moved to work on the narrowing entrance. Where the branched inward like grasping fingers.

They worked in tandem, axe hafts pounding, fists cracking ice loose, until most of Frost’s body came free. He slumped bonelessly, breath shallow, faint puffs of mist appeared when he exhaled.

“Snotlout, take over, I need to get his tail,” hiccup ordered.

Snotlout blinked as a mass of icy dragon was shoved at him. “Cold! Cold, cold, cold—!”

He gritted his teeth and held on. While Hiccup dug in with inferno, carefully carving far around the base of the tail. At last, with a brittle snap, a segment broke away, Frost’s tail encased in a separate slab of ice now. But it was movable.

“He’s out! Go, go, go!”

They stumbled out of the frigid room just as the cave groaned again, spires descending like teeth from the ceiling.

Once outside, they mounted their dragons. Toothless curled his claws carefully around Frost, lifting in tandem with the others. The skies howled around them, they flew for a few minutes. Landed on the beach, at the very edge of the island, lowered Frost carefully. Out in the open the ice seemed to lose its venom. No sharp icicles stabbed from the sand, only a soft rime coating the shoreline.

Hiccup leapt from Toothless and ran beside Frost, brushing a tangle of silvery-white hair from his brow. His body was marred, angry burns seared across scales, now slowly freezing over again, as though his very being sought to soothe itself.

Even unconscious, pain knotted his features. Claws twitched reflexively at his blood-soaked side.

Hiccup exhaled shakily. “We need to get him to Gothi. Fast. We can talk on the way.”

He mounted Toothless. The Night Fury leaned close, crooning softly before he cradled Frost in his paws. The weight was light, but his wingspan and tail size made the boy a precious carry. Still, Toothless adjusted, and they lifted into the storm once more, toward safety, or whatever waited beyond the freezing winds.

They flew high above the clouds, the wind cold and clear, they chased the sun as if they wanted to reach it. Berk still lay over a day’s flight away, even at top speed. Two days, if they wanted to stop and rest. Hiccup’s gaze kept drifting to the mist-trailing behind them, his worry tightening with every passing mile.

Frostbite drifted in and out, barely conscious, body rimmed in cold. The constant chill that seeped from him was both haunting and curious. Hiccup hadn’t felt such a raw, biting cold when they’d been together in the cave. Was this a good sing? Or did it mean something dire?

The riders tightened their formation, flying wing to wing. Close enough to speak. Close enough to ask their questions. When Hiccup didn’t speak, Snotlout’s patience, as ever, wore thin.

“Out with it, Haddock!” he snapped over the wind. “What in Thor’s name happened back there?”

Hiccup hesitated, his hand resting on Toothless’s neck. The Night Fury let out a soft, comforting warble.

“He… saved me,” Hiccup said quietly. “I thought it was Toothless at first.” He stroked his dragon absentmindedly. “I woke up in his cave with a concussion. He’d took me there, kept me safe. Even after Inferno burned him, he didn’t retaliate. Just… stayed calm.”

Snotlout rubbed his chin, in mock contemplation. Then he barked, “Uhum uhum, okay-and are you happy ignoring the fact IT HAS A FACE? A human face?!”

“I didn’t see him properly until right before you guys showed up, uh I call him Frostbite” Hiccup admitted, sheepishly. “It was dark… middle of the night… he put out the fire when it caught him. I barely saw his face - just a few seconds before you guys showed up.” He paused “Did he attack you?”

Astrid slid her dragon closer, her brows drawn low. “When you fell, we thought the hunters had you,” she said grimly. “The storm forced us to retreat. But when we went back, Toothless kept signalling to this one tunnel. We followed him, and… Hiccup, we found bones. Huge ones. A trail of blood leading in. We were sure you were-” she faltered. “We were sure you were gone.”

Astrid’s throat tightened. “I-I remember seeing something move around the corner, and I struck. Stormfly attacked. Toothless bolted, probably heard you, but I didn’t know that. I nearly… I nearly killed him. Twice.”

Astrid drifted below Toothless, peering toward the boy. Mist curled lazily from his still form, painting a spectral path through the sky.

“I’ve never seen a dragon that couldn’t stand fire,” she whispered, brushing her fingers against a scorched marks on the boy’s wing. “No wonder he tried to flee from Hookfang.”

Hookfang let out a low, almost solemn grumble.

Fishlegs’s voice cracked through the quiet. “So… uh… what exactly are we telling Stoick? ‘Cause he’s gonna have some questions.”

“I haven’t even thought about that,” Hiccup groaned, leaning back in the saddle. “Let’s just get him to safety. I’ll face the consequences … I just hope he makes it.”

Behind them, the twins weaved low, mouths open wide as they flew straight into the sparkling mist trailing behind Frostbite.

“Uhhh… what are you two doing?” Fishlegs called, alarmed.

Tuffnut held out his tongue dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious. Magic human-dragon snow!” He smacked his lips. “Mmm. Slightly fruity. Raspberry, maybe?”

Ruffnut nodded sagely. “Definitely raspberry.”

Snotlout gagged in disgust, just as Toothless began twitching beneath Hiccup. His wings shivered; unease radiated through his body.

“What’s wrong, bud?” Hiccup asked, frowning.

Toothless jerked, then lowered under the clouds without warning, letting out a sharp, urgent screech. The others followed in confusion, diving into a sudden squall of snow. The sea below churned - a cold, gray expanse with no land in sight.

Frostbite’s tail trailed just above the waves, sending flecks of snow into the air. Without warning, delicate tendrils of ice began to spread beneath it. The surface, froze, cracked from the waves and refroze in hypnotic rhythm.

“Toothless, what are you doing?” Hiccup asked, panic rising in his chest.

But the Night Fury didn’t stop. He lowered his cargo with infinite gentleness until Frostbite’s form just touched the fragile ice. In that moment, the ice seemed to spread and strengthen.

With a hopeful chirrup, the night fury fully placed the body on the thin ice slab. Soared back into the air, looping toward Hookfang, who obligingly lit a fire along his neck and chest. Toothless flapped above the heat, steam rising as frost flaked from his scales.

Hiccup watched in awed silence. The sheet of ice below expanded rapidly, a shimmering field glittering in the pale light. The others landed cautiously, the ice solid beneath their claws and boots.

“I’m sorry, bud,” Hiccup whispered, rubbing Toothless’s neck. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

Astrid dismounted and approached the figure curled on the ice- it looked less like a dragon and more like a being woven from winter itself. Frost and mist coiled around him. Snow drifted gently without source.

“Hiccup,” she said softly.

“We should go to the Edge. It’s closer. I can rig something to carry him safely.” Hiccup was planning absentmindedly while checking over toothless.

“Hiccup,” she said again, more firmly.

He turned away from Toothless - then froze.

The boy’s body lay curled like a sleeping spirit. Intricate frost patterns spiraled outward, delicately etched into the growing sheet of ice. It was artistry the gods themselves could not replicate. The patterns reached further then the horizon. As far as the eye could see the whole sea stood still. Frozen.

“What in the world are you?” Hiccup whispered, kneeling beside him and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. Shaking the biting cold off quickly.

Then he stood. “Alright, gang. We’re heading for the Edge. Snotlout, you and Hookfang carry Frostbite. Hookfang’s should have no problems stabilizing his body temperature.”

“Uh, no-no-NO WAY,” Snotlout exclaimed. “That thing’s cursed. No way we’re hauling him!”

But Hookfang had already stepped forward. He nuzzled Frostbite with surprising care, then slid a claw beneath his body, lifting him with solemn. His eyes locked with Snotlout’s in challenge.

“Fine. Pick up the Hrimthursar, why don’t you,” Snotlout muttered, sulking as he climbed back into the saddle.

The riders took to the sky once more, changing direction toward the Edge. Behind them, the newly frozen ocean glimmered in the sun. They flew for miles before the ice met waves.

They reached the island within the hour.

Hiccup didn’t wait. As they landed, he leapt from Toothless and ran toward his hut, heart pounding. Whatever came next… he needed to be fast.

“Snotlout, put him down by the clearing near Fishlegs,” Hiccup instructed as he went, brushing wind-tossed hair from his face. “I don’t think… taking him indoors would end well. Fishlegs -treat him as best you can while I get everything ready.”

Astrid stepped forward, voice calm but commanding. “Ruffnut, Tuffnut, grab as many furs and sheepskins as you can carry. Snotlout, go with Hiccup. Get him whatever he needs to make this go faster.”

She glanced at Hiccup, expectantly.

“Two hours,” he replied, already thinking ahead. Then, a pause. “And make sure your dragons get something to eat.”

With a rustle of wings and thudding footfalls, the riders scattered to do their tasks.

Hookfang moved with surprising gentleness, setting Frostbite down in the center of the clearing. Grass turned silver beneath him, frost creeping outward in spirals. A soft current of wind twined itself around the boy’s still form.

Fishlegs landed nearby and immediately bolted into his hut. Moments later, Meatlug bounced forward and approached the figure. She gave cautious sniffs at first, then launched into full inspection, snout working overtime as she prodded and nosed the frozen boy’s hair, neck, and side.

A quiet groan escaped Frostbite, and an icy breath burst outward, chilling the clearing. Hookfang padded over, low and gentle, nudging Meatlug aside with a quiet croon. She flopped down with a pant, as if satisfied her work was done.

Snotlout hopped off hookfang with a huff. “Come in hooky” Hookfang ignored him, he took if a huff.

Fishlegs reappeared, arms full with a weathered supply chest. He dropped to his knees near the center of thefield just as Astrid approached, wrapped in a thick winter cloak.

“Need a hand?” she asked, sitting down beside him in the snow.

Fishlegs gave a sheepish grin, fumbling with a jar. “Honestly? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Astrid brushed her fingers across one of the angry purple welts marking Frostbite’s wing. “Hiccup said they’re burns. His scales are not fire resistant.”

“Burn ointment!” Fishlegs exclaimed. “One thing we always have.”

He proudly produced a large jar of greenish, translucent sludge and dipped in two fingers. But as he hovered over the wounds, uncertainty froze him in place.

Astrid wordlessly joined him, smoothing some salve across the seared scales. As her fingers touched Frostbite’s side, he let out a groan—soft, startled, almost… boyish. It was the petulant sound of someone unwilling to wake. And the face, still as it was, wore that stubborn expression.

“Is it me,” she murmured, “or was that… unsettlingly human?”

They tended to his scorched wings, tail and limbs, Astrid offering gentle strokes wherever he tensed. The salve brought subtle calm. Then came the hard part - his human half.

With Hookfang’s help, they rolled him gently toward Meatlug, who supported his upper back. As the body shifted, both riders recoiled.

“Oh… that’s terrible,” Fishlegs whispered, covering his mouth.

Across his chest and torso lay a tapestry of wounds - some faded to silvery pink, others recent and raw. Scars from claws. From weapons. From too many battles survived alone.

They began with the shoulder. The old bandage was dry enough to remove easily, but as Astrid peeled it away, a sharp hiss sliced through the clearing. Snow began to fall again.

She froze. “When he’s in pain… the weather changes,” she murmured.

The wound beneath bore the telltale shape of a Nadder spine. Guilt clutched at her chest. She rewrapped the shoulder delicately, Fishlegs matching her rhythm on the smaller scars with practiced focus.

Then they reached the worst wound.

His side - ribs to stomach -was wrapped in frozen cloth, soaked with sluggishly bleeding ice-cold blood. She used oil to try to ease off the stuck fabric, the boy shifted.

“Still bleeding,” Astrid muttered grimly. “We have to change it.”

Fishlegs faltered. “I—I don’t know, Astrid—what if—?”

“We can do this,” she said firmly. “He needs us.”

Together, they prepared the healing salves and cloths. Hookfang stepped back. Head hanging low after he glimpsed at the scar. Meatlug remained, supporting the boy’s back like a living rock pillow.

Astrid began the slow process of removing the cloth. It peeled easily - until a section resisted. Stuck inside the wound.

Frostbite lurched, letting out a strangled sound more whimper than roar.

Wind howled. Ice formed instantly around their feet.

Astrid turned to check his face - and locked eyes with two wide eyes, thin pupils, darting around with fear.

“Oh no, it’s awake,” Fishlegs squeaked, shrinking behind his arms as snow slashed sideways.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Astrid said quickly, leaning forward, her voice soothing. “Hey… you’re alright. Just hold still for a little longer, okay?”

His pupils were still slitted in panic, but they found hers, and clung to them like a rope in a storm.

She reached for the bandage again, but the boy yelped, and a clawed hand suddenly clamped around her arm.

The weather worsened.

She inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch. Instead, she placed her free hand over the claw, offering the warmest smile she could summon.

“You can hold on,” she whispered. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. Just a little longer.”

The claws twitched. The grip steadied.

The storm paused.

Snowflakes froze midair like stars suspended in glass. Even the wind seemed to hush.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Astrid promised.

She wasn’t prepared for the gaze that met hers. Human. Trembling. Young.

She tore away the last of the bandage in one careful pull, and the moment it came free, the snow resumed. Gently now. Like a sigh.

His grip slackened. The boy slipped once more into unconsciousness.

It made the rest easier. They worked quickly - disinfecting, soothing, wrapping tight enough to hopefully stem the flow. Once they finished, they sat back with matching sighs. Ice coating their gloves.

Hookfang padded close, nosing Frostbite’s side with a soft whine. Meatlug shifted, brushing ice crystals from her back.

The sound of wings signaled the others’ return. One by one, they landed - bundled in furs, bags full of supplies.

Hiccup jumped from Toothless’s back, dragging behind him a contraption of wood beams, canvas, and leather harnesses.

He spread it across the field, anchoring the straps to Toothless’s saddle. He was about to attach the other ends to Barf and Belch when Hookfang surged forward and planted himself beside the frame.

Hiccup blinked. “Alright, Hookfang… if you insist.”

With practiced ease, they strapped the fabric together. Then, all hands joined to lift Frostbite into the suspended sling. Fishlegs tucked a fur tightly around him, fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long.

Hiccup saw the look in Astrid’s eyes, guarded, but shifting. Gentle. They were beginning to come around.

With the leather taut and the frame balanced between Toothless and Hookfang, they prepared to take flight.

As Barf and Belch glided into position, Ruffnut leaned dramatically toward her brother. “So… do we tell the others now, or wait until he wakes up to break the news?”

Tuffnut blinked. “That we’re now co-parents to an elemental cryptid with the probable emotional range of a haunted teacup?”

“Exactly.”

Tuffnut declared . “We shall raise him in the ancient arts of chaos, sarcasm, and medium-tier hygiene.”

“You’re holding out for medium?” Ruffnut snorted.

“Only the best for our frosty foundling.”

Hiccup sighed audibly from below. Burying his face in his hands.

Then, with sky a burnt yellow and frost still glittering on the grass, they turned toward Berk.

The dragons were carving through frozen clouds with practiced ease. Whenever the winds grew restless. Astrid guided Stormfly lower, to their new passenger. The Nadder squawked in protest each time, her wings snapping with frustration as they tilted downward, but Astrid’s was persistent. Placed a calming hand on figure nestled in the makeshift sling. Murmuring reassurances. He sounded restless in his fevered sleep, twitching against unseen enemies. Whenever he calmed the storm did too, the wind began to ease.

Night arrived to the horizon by the time they settled for a place to rest. There was no need to search for land tonight. No desperate sweeps over dark seas for some rock to call sanctuary. Tonight, they had an advantage.

The hybrid was lowered carefully toward the water’s surface, tail hanging limp below the sling. Toothless hovered close, wings silent and steady, as the others waited. Beneath them, ice formed and thickened with a groan. Hiccup’s hand tensed on a rope. Only when the frost showed no sign of cracking did they lower the boy fully.

They made camp out of furs. A circle against the vast, open void that had been ocean only moments earlier. Above them, constellations stirred behind the remains of the storm.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut, never ones for silence, took turns carving into the ice with axes and wild speculation, trying to catch fish through a hole that never quite grew deep enough. Even they fell quiet eventually. They slept beneath the stars, with their dragon’s wings as cover and a silence that that only the sounds of the ice singing interrupted.

By dawn, they were in the air again. No detours. No delays. No islands.

By early afternoon, Berk’s silhouette cut through the cold mist. One by one, dragons touched down in the main square. Snow cracked beneath their claws as villagers gathered, welcoming their riders back.

Toothless and Hookfang made no pause for greetings, veering sharply toward Gothi’s hut. From the Great Hall, Stoick emerged like a tide. His eyes scanned the crowd and darkened when they landed on the limp bundle between night fury and the nightmare. He moved, instinct roaring behind every stride, only for Astrid to land directly in his path.

“ASTRID, is my son—?”

“He’s fine, Stoick,” she said quickly, the lie slipping between heartbeats. “We’re bringing a… a dragon that needs Gothi’s help. Hiccup will explain everything.”

The twins bounded forward. “For sure he’s got a really *cool* story to tell,” Ruffnut said with a smirk. Tuffun nodded.

Astrid’s glare was sharp enough to silence both.

At Gothi’s doorstep, Hiccup pounded his fist against the wood. “Gothi! I need your help!”

The door snapped open. The elderly healer stood, staff raised and scowl deep. Her eyes narrowed, demanding an explanation before words could reach her ears.

“I didn’t mean, uh, look, it’s urgent,” Hiccup said, stepping aside.

She saw the wing first - scraped, bruised, trembling, and then the bundle. Beneath the thick fabric was the shallow rise and fall of labored breath. Her gaze tightened. With a wave, she ordered Hiccup inside.

Hookfang and Snotlout dropped them off and vanished, while Toothless settled on the snow-dusted balcony with an anxious trill.

Inside, Gothi started toward the hearth - then paused. Her eyes fell to the floor where the dragon lay, frost clinging to the cloth it was wrapped in. She adjusted course and pointed to the sunlit nook by the window instead.

“I should warn you,” Hiccup began, but she raised a hand to silence him.

With care, she began peeling back the layers. The wings were battered but tended to. She nodded slightly, approving of Astrid and Fishlegs’ earlier work.

Then she saw him.

The breath caught in her throat.

A boy - barely that, really - fused with scales and bones not meant for men. Claws rested where fingers should be. A tail twitched. His face, bruised and ash-smeared, was human. If she could call it that.

Her posture tensed, she sent a pointed look at hiccup.

“I don’t know what he is,” Hiccup said, quieter now. “But I know he needs help. He saved my life.”

The healer’s eyes lingered on the burns. Treated. Cleaned. Healing. The others had done well. But the breathing was ragged. Too shallow. And the blood-soaked wrappings around his side—those worried her more.

When she peeled away the bandage from his shoulder, she nodded at the clean scabbing. Re-wrapping it took no time.

But the ribs…

As she pulled back the fabric, the boy’s body convulsed. His claws gouged splinters from her floor. His tail whipped, smashing shelves and scattering bottles. Frost bloomed across the floorboards, spidering into the walls.

She motioned for hiccups to hold him.

Hiccup flung himself on the thrashing tail, sliding across the floor with it. Toothless jumped in to help, pinning limb and wing with his weight.

Gothi moved fast. From shattered glass, she plucked a small vial, uncorked it, and sprinted back- leaping over growing icicles with the grace of someone far younger. She landed, braced herself, and pried open the boy’s mouth.

The liquid vanished down his throat.

The thrashing slowed.

Stopped.

Hiccup stumbled back, chest heaving. Toothless huffed and slumped beside him.

Gothi, as if none of it had happened, patted Hiccup’s side in either comfort or chastisement- unclear as always. Then she fetched a needle, heated in the flame of a Terrible Terror. With deft hands, she sat at the dragon-boy’s side, brushing wings aside with reverence.

She stitched.

Four brutal gashes sliced from stomach to spine, deep and jagged. The dragon half had kept them from reaching vital organs, but barely.

Hiccup peeked and immediately wished he hadn’t. He recognized Hookfang’s talon mark. Guilt churned in his gut. If they’d never landed on his island—

Gothi tugged his sleeve. She pointed at the boy, breathing in ragged but even waves. Then waved him off toward the Great Hall.

“He shouldn’t be left alone. The ice-” he protested.

She rolled her eyes and waved him away again.

“Okay, okay! But I’m coming back.”

He climbed onto Toothless, the Night Fury lifting gently into the air. Behind them, the hut shrank into a dot of light. Landing by the great hall where the others are already eating. The doors to the Great Hall swung open with a familiar creak, and Hiccup stepped into the glow of torchlight. The strain of the past hours slowly dissipated at the sight of his friends gathered around the long table, voices murmuring, mugs clinking, out of danger. Familiar warmth. Familiar faces.

But peace, it seemed, would not be his for long.

“Son! Welcome back!”

Stoick’s voice boomed across the hall like a war horn, drawing every gaze. He rose to his full height, beard bristling with pride, and marched toward Hiccup with open arms.

The chieftain’s hand met his son’s back in a heavy smack—affectionate, Strong, and as always, enough to knock the wind out of Hiccup’s lungs.

Before he could catch his breath, Stoick was guiding him toward the central firepit. “Come now, tell me,what happened to the poor beast you dragged to Gothi’s hut? Will it pull through?”

Chairs scraped back as heads turned. Curiosity stirred around the table, his friends listening for the answer.

Hiccup sank into his seat and began picking at the plate someone had kindly prepared for him.

“Gothi didn’t seem worried,” he said, tone guarded. “But I don’t know… he’s not like anything we’ve seen before, Dad. I don’t think he would have wanted to come here. He wont be happy when he wakes up.”

Gobber leaned forward, elbows on the table, metal teeth flashing. “Well, you must’ve had your reasons, lad. Poor dragon must’ve taken a real beating from those hunters if you brought him all the way back to Berk.”

At that silence settled quick, thick and Heavy.

Gobber glanced around, puzzled. “Ooh, I’ve stepped in something, haven’t I?”

He picket his tooth absentmindedly.

Astrid’s voice was quiet, threaded with guilt. “The hunters didn’t hurt him.”

Gobber blinked. “They didn’t?”

“We did,” she added.

Stoick frowned, caught off-guard. “What?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Hiccup said quickly, pressing his palms together on the table. “They thought he hurt me.”

Stoick didn’t let the moment pass unchallenged. “Did he?”

“No. No, Dad, it’s the opposite. He saved me. Took me to his… shelter.”

He stopped short of calling it home. He didn’t think he had the right to reveal that. Not for what they’d done by bringing him here.

“I got got hurt fighting off hunters in the air. Caught me, made sure i was okay.”

Hiccup dropped his gaze to his plate, appetite gone. His voice shrank.

“He’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before, Dad. And I… I really need to tell you more.. in private.”

Stoick let out a great laugh, slapping the table with a sound like thunder. “With the rate you’re discovering new species, my boy, we might need a second edition of the Book of Dragons!”

“No, that’s not what I mean, Dad,” Hiccup tried again, but it was too late.

Spitelout was calling for Stoick’s attention, and the chieftain clapped his son’s shoulder as he passed. “Tell me everything tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder, warmth in his voice.

“But—” The word barely made it past Hiccup’s lips.

Snotlout kicked back in his seat. “Well hey, at least you don’t have to face Stoick’s ‘wrath of the beard’ until morning.”

Hiccup offered a feeble smile. “Maybe he’ll take it well?”

The flat stares that followed answered before anyone needed to speak.

“What are we gonna do when he wakes up?” Fishlegs asked between spoonfuls of stew.

“Let’s just hope he wakes up first,” Hiccup replied.

Astrid leaned forward. “And what about the ice? Won’t he freeze Gothi’s hut like he did with the cave?”

“He should be okay. Gothi gave him something… some kind of sedative. It helped.”

He hesitated. Then added, halfheartedly, “I think were okay.”

They were not okay.

A day went by without any incident.
The following the riders were still taking shifts at Gothi’s hut every few hours. The old healer, hadn’t been thrilled with the new traffic through her door. But she appreciated the impromptu ice cleaning service the patient prompted. Whenever the dragon-boy grew agitated, a wave of frost swept through her hut, creating dangerous icicles dangling from the ceiling.

At the moment, Hiccup and Astrid were locked in council with the village elders, laying out strategies for tracking the remaining hunter ship. Fishlegs was sleeping off his night shift with the patient, softly snoring at his family home. The twins had just been banished for using the ice blooms to sculpt an army of goblin-like creatures they’d dubbed ice gnolls, now crowding the already cramped balcony.

So it fell to Snotlout to take the next watch.

He stormed up and down the house, muttering under his breath, winter cloak flapping like an offended rooster. “Babysitting Hiccup’s latest science project. Great.”

Hookfang, curled contentedly on the balcony, paid him no mind.

Inside, frost crackled faintly as the boy twitched in restless sleep. Snotlout paced—grumbling, kicking loose shards of ice, swiping condensation off his brow.

He hated this.

From the Great Hall, the door opened and the elders stepped into coming daylight, Gothi, Astrid, Stoick, Hiccup trailing behind mid-discussion, heads bowed against the cold.

And then.

A sound like cracking thunder echoed through the village.

Every head turned.

Gothi’s hut shuddered. Then from the side wall, ice erupted in an explosion of light and cold -shards spiraling outward as a fresh glacier burst forth, shearing through wood, stone, and air in an instant.

 

Everything bled together in a dream as Jack drifted in unconscious limbo.

The ache was dull at first, then biting. A song floated across his thoughts—soft and haunting, laced with the rhythm of the wind. A game with.. antlers? Someone stood barefoot on a frozen shore, their toes pink against pale grey. They all felt familiar.

Then a flash of brightness - too close. A girl with golden hair leaning over him, her mouth moving soundlessly, her gaze sharp with concern. Foreign. Alien.

The dream shattered.

He gasped awake with a start, the fire in his side licking him from the inside out. His first thought was hunger. A hunt, could fix that, maybe. His body remembered to stretch his limbs before his mind caught up.

When he moved, just a little, a white-hot bolt of pain speared through his ribs and shoulder.

Jack jolted upright with a ragged gasp, eyes wide. Everything ached. His side felt like it had been torn open then sewn shut. The dull throb in his back echoed the sharp pang of healing wounds. Bandages—everywhere. Tight, scratchy, clinging to him like molted layers of skin.

He wasn’t in the cave.

The scents were wrong. No moss or salt or pine, just firewood, smoke, herbs and iron. The world spun slowly as he looked around, breath shallow. This was a house. A human house. Small, wooden, and far too cramped.

He’d never been in one before.

Without thinking, he pushed himself to his haunches, grimacing as stiff muscles protested. His left leg pulled, healing, dragged slightly behind, its scales flaking away to make way to the new healthy ones. One arm cradled close to his chest, unwilling to let his shoulder pull. His wings curled awkwardly behind him, twitching from residual pain.

He moved.

Cautiously.

The corridor was narrow. Too narrow. Walls far too close. But ahead—sunlight. A balcony, open sky. He felt the tug in his chest, wild and desperate. A way out.

Freedom.

Then the sound of boots on wood.

A Viking stepped through the door, muttering to himself as he kicked through slush-frozen ice on the floor. He didn’t see Jack at first, too absorbed in his complaints. But Jack knew him. The boy who he knocked off of a dragon’s back.

Jack’s pupils narrowed.

Fear exploded in his chest.

He stumbled back, breath catching as his wings knocked into a rickety table. Plates clattered to the floor. The Viking’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Jack crouched low, muscles tight, jaw clenched in a silent snarl.

He braced himself. For a blade. For chains. For steel.

But instead…

The Viking screamed.

A shriek so shrill and sudden it nearly broke Jack’s focus. He blinked, confused, and let out the ghost of a laugh, breath rattling in his throat. Was that supposed to be threatening?

Still, the exit was blocked.

Jack’s smile vanished the moment he saw the dragon.

Fire-red scales. Smoldering eyes. A massive snout curling in from the balcony. The Monstrous Nightmare dragged its head forward, jaws wide, filling the space like a prowling beast.

Jack froze.

He was cornered. Trapped. Not again.

No rock. No sky. No way out. He was caught in a wooden cage, surrounded by strangers and flame.

Panic surged. His wings flared, sharp with frost despite the pain. His breath came ragged, chest heaving.

Then—air.

A whisper, a promise, leaking through the boards to his left. Cold. True. The scent of the outside world.

With a snarl rising in his throat, Jack twisted toward the wall. Ice lanced from his jaws, erupting in jagged shards. The frost crept fast, blooming like a flower in winter. The wood cracked, split, shattered.

There.

A sliver of sky.

He threw himself toward it.

Wings folded tight, body curved through the breach. He burst into the open, wind catching beneath him as he flared wide -one beat, two - his body screamed in protest. Crimson poured beneath him like trailing ink in water. His side pulsed with fresh agony. Frost spread uselessly across his scales as he tried to seal the wound.

Still he flew.

Below, a town opened into view, silent and unaware.

Behind him, a roar answered. The Nightmare gave chase, a shadow in his trail.

“No” his voice rasped, barely audible above the wind. A pleading cry. Please just let him go.

His wings faltered.

Darkness rushed up to meet him, and then

He was falling.

 

Hookfang didn’t wait for Snotlout to reach him. He had already launched into the sky, wings churning clouds as he angled toward the pale streak ahead.

The strange dragon if it even was a dragon, moved clumsily through the air. One wing beat strong, the other lagged behind like a broken oar. Hookfang crooned low, a sound barely louder than the wind, coaxing gently. But the creature didn’t respond.

Then it dropped.

Hookfang dove. The sky blurred past him, a crimson streak catching pale one just before it hit the roofs. He snared the falling body in his claws with care, flaring his wings to slow the descent.

He turned briefly toward Gothi’s hut, but hesitated.

No.

Not there.

He veered instead toward the Great Hall - toward the humans. Toward the one who had once fixed him before. His rider would forgive him later.

At the same moment, a wave of shouts swept through the square.
The council, mid-conversation outside the Hall, had barely registered the explosion at Gothi’s hut before a blur tore through the wreckage like a comet.

A dragon. Quick as a Night Fury, beelining it away from Berk.

It faltered after only a few wingbeats.

It dropped fast.

Hiccup had already jumped onto Toothless when Hookfang caught the figure out of the sky. The Dragon circled once, careful with the bleeding form in his claws, and swooped toward the square.

His eyes scanned the crowd. Foreign blood dripped down his talons. When they landed on Gobber, he glided lower and deposited the creature with a soft, concerned nudge, uncharacteristically gentle. Then he turned with a snort and flung himself skyward once more, back toward his screeching, red headed rider. But not before letting out a final, forceful huff.

A clear message: Help him.

The square spiraled into chaos.People saw only the blood, the claws, a dragon coiled in pain. Then the rest came to focus, a human body melded with a dragons. Panic surged like wildfire. Gobber shoved through the circle, waving his arms, barking orders. Gothi dropped to her knees beside the creature, hands already moving to press down on the bleeding side. Her brow furrowed, not in fear, but in frustration, she couldn’t concentrate, not with the noise, not with all these boots in her way.

Stoick moved last. The Chief’s eyes locked on the strange being now twitching weakly on the stones. And then his fury cracked.

“WHAT IN ODIN’S NAME IS THIS, SON?!”

Hiccup was still fighting his way through the crowd, dismounting Toothless mid-movement. “Dad, I swear I’ll tell you everything, but please, we need to get him somewhere Gothi can work!” Stoick grumbled under his breath, then raised his voice louder than the roar of a Thunderdrum.

“ENOUGH! There’ll be a town meeting this evening. You want answers, you’ll get them then. But clear the square now! Let our healers through!”

Gobber gave a sharp salute and heaved the half-dragon boy into his arms.

“Toothless go with them!” Hiccup called, and the Night Fury moved to support from below, wings angled to balance the weight.

As the square slowly emptied, the tension didn’t. Gossip spread fast.

Astrid and Stormfly flew off returned minutes later, arms full of jars and salves scavenged from the ruins of the hut.

In the Chief’s house, the main hall had been cleared. Furs piled into a makeshift bed. Gothi worked fast, redressing wounds, rethreading stitches with deft, weathered fingers.

And in the corner, Gobber paced, gesticulating wildly, voice filling the room:

“I knew it! I said it, didn’t I? ‘Gobber,’ they said, ‘you’re mad!’ And I said, ‘aye, but I’m the kind of mad that’s always right!’ Weredragons! Bah! Not just stories for scaring toddlers after dinner! Hiccup finds one after he’s wrung every page dry in the Book of Dragons, of course he does!”

He flailed a hand toward the prone figure. “Look at this lad! Has wings, has claws, and opposable thumbs! You tell me how we’re supposed to classify that, hmm? Fire-breathing frost-chucker with a face like a lost puppy, if that doesn’t throw the taxonomies into the sea, I don’t know what does!”

He turned to Gothi, who was somehow managing to work and ignore him simultaneously. “You know, I’ve always said someone needed to update that blasted book. Maybe with a new chapter titled, ‘Dragons That Bite, Cry, and Bleed Like Teenagers!’”

Toothless made a grumbly huff from the hearth.

“Oh aye, don’t start with me,” Gobber said, pointing a hook at the dragon. “Your rider is the one who keeps dragging cursed legends into our village like he’s collecting them on purpose!”

Gothi didn’t even glance up.

Gobber sighed.

“Alright. Let’s get him patched up before he freezes the roof off.”

 

Outside the longhouse, the wind howled. Ash swirled in the air from the forge, and the low thrum of dragon wings beat overhead. But neither the gale nor the roar of beasts drowned out the voices rising from chief and his son.

“I’m telling you, he saved my life!” Hiccup’s voice cracked, raw from exhaustion and shouting.

Stoick loomed like a mountain carved from rage and stubbornness. “That thing is not natural, son. It is a Jotnar, or something worse.”

“He’s not an ice giant,” Hiccup snapped back, stepping forward despite the weight of his father’s shadow. “There has to be an explanation. Just let me get him back on his feet-”

“It cannot stay on Berk.” Stoick’s voice dropped, cold and decisive. “That is my final word on the matter. As your father. As your chief. As soon as it can be moved, you will move it.”

The words sliced through the air like a spear hurled too hard. Hiccup stood still for a long breath, fists clenched at his sides. Then, without another word, he turned and walked into the building.

For two days, he didn’t leave the cottage. He paused his duties, skipped his patrols. Even Toothless seemed to sense something as Hiccup kept vigil beside the unconscious stranger. This not-quite-dragon, not-quite-boy.

The healer, Gothi, had said his lungs were singed by a mixture of smoke and its own ice. An elemental backlash from powers that never belonged in a mortal chest. Steam helped. Herbs helped. So Hiccup brewed pot after pot, leaning Frost’s head gently over the vapor and whispering to the unmoving form like words alone could coax him into waking up.

At night, when the stranger didn’t thrash or moan, Hiccup sketched. Dozens of sketches littered the table, of his wings, talons, that strange jagged pattern of frostmark climbing up his back like a masterpiece carved in ice. Sometimes Hiccup spoke aloud, half to himself, half to the boy who slept through it all. He told him stories, about dragons, about Astrid’s sparring injuries, about the day Toothless brought his helmet back. And sometimes, in the quietest hours before dawn, he confessed his fears. That he’d made a mistake. That maybe his father was right.

Once, fetching more tea leaves from the drying hut, he passed the twins who knocked him off his feet wrestling the handful of thyme from him.

“You know unconscious people don’t want tea, right?” Ruffnut jeered.

Hiccup brushed himself off, sighed and took the bundle back in a swift motion, walking onward. “ what even are you two talking about.”

 

Jack dreamed.

Eyes, ancient and vast, watched him from the deep. They gleamed like polished ice, unblinking, as he sank beneath an endless, crushing sea. He kicked upward, but the surface receded with every stroke. Then a hum. Wordless. A promise. His lungs stopped burning. He let the water in.

Then - pain. Screams. His name carried on wind. Arrows. Cages. Men in furs and iron. He ran. A dragon on fire.

He woke up gasping.

Wooden beams blurred above him. Not the mouth of a cave. No wind. No snow. A low creak - the groan of wood - drew his attention. Boots descended stairs. Human.

It all came back in a rush. He’d saved one. And they burned him for it. Captured him. Took him.

He shouldn’t have - Hiccup, the man he shouldn’t have saved , poked his head down, eyes wide, face split between disbelief and blooming joy.

“Thank Thor, you’re awake! I thought—” He didn’t finish. He bounded down the stairs with a tray of steaming food and some sort of liquid.

Jack blinked. The walls didn’t shift. The pain was dulled, distant. His wings still ached, but he wasn’t chained. Why wasn’t Hiccup screaming? Where was the sword?

A low growl built in his throat as he forced himself upright, propping onto trembling elbows. Ice curled around him like mist around a glacier.

“Hey, hey no, no, don’t get up.” Hiccup halted mid-step, both hands raised. Not in fear. In concern . “You’re gonna rip your stitches .”

Jack huffed, a tiny puff of frost sneaking past his lips in annoyance. Hiccup flinched, but didn’t retreat.

“I forgot you could understand me,” the boy breathed.

Jack looked down. The burns along his arms had mostly vanished, replaced by new scales like shards of glass. He flexed his claws slowly.

“Frost?” Hiccup tried again, hesitant. “Frost…?”

Jack blinked. He tilted his head.

“…Right. Of course you wouldn’t know what I called you,” Hiccup chuckled weakly. “Okay, new start.”

He took a small breath. “You understand me, yeah?”

A beat. Jack nodded.

“Do you know where you are?”

Jack shivered. The memory came back with a flash of metal, the crackle of dragon fire. His claws hovered over his ribs instinctively. He shook his head, movements tighter now, more alert. His ears flattened. Pupils thinned.

Hiccup noticed the shift, a flick of the tail here, a twitch of muscle there. Fear had a shape, after all. And this one—this boy with frost in his veins and talons curled beneath healing limbs, wore it like armor. He didn’t step closer. Didn’t retreat. Just waited. Open, attentive.

“You’re safe,” he said, voice softer now, full of a gentleness Jack didn’t know humans could carry. “You’re in my home. In Berk. And I swear to you, you’re not our prisoner. I - I brought you here because you were in rough shape. Our healer… she could help.”

Frost’s ears twitched. The tension in his shoulders eased, barely his pupils remained razor thin slits. He didn’t trust easily. Hiccup couldn’t blame him.

“You got hurt pretty badly,” he added.

To that, Frost snarled, a low, bitter. I didn’t get hurt, it seemed to say. I was attacked.

Trying to shift the current, Hiccup cleared his throat and tried a softer tack. “Do you know who I am?”

That earned a sound. A breath caught in a hiccup. And then, an actual hiccup. The boy made a noise so deliberate, so cheeky, that Hiccup blinked. He realized that was meant to be his name.

It was… adorable.

He let out a startled laugh, immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising both hands in surrender, “I just, wasn’t prepared.”

Frost’s narrowed eyes didn’t soften, but his ears flicked with something dangerously close to amusement.

Taking a breath, Hiccup continued. “While we were flying here, I didn’t want to keep calling you ‘dragon boy.’ So I, uh… I started calling you Frostbite. Kind of fitting, I thought.”

He offered the name hesitantly. “But I assume you have a real one.”

Frost blinked, and something shifted. The suspicion didn’t vanish, but it reshaped into caution. He sat up cross-legged—more human than beast in that moment, and nodded faintly. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth.

“Aaan… Aaahhk…”

The sounds were coarse, like bark cracking in winter. His lips struggled to form the right shape, canines catching. A low growl of frustration escaped him, and his shoulders slumped. He winced as pain arced through because of the motion..

“It’s okay,” Hiccup said quickly, leaning forward. “You don’t have to push it. We can figure it out later.”

The hybrid jerked back at the motion, personal space. Then, he blew a tiny puff of frost toward Hiccup’s head. It dusted his hair and eyebrows in a sugar-glaze of snow.

Hiccup blinked, then chuckled, shaking flakes from his curls. “I take that as a yes - you’re okay with ‘Frost’ for now?”

Frost shrugged, an almost-smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. It was the closest thing to a truce Hiccup had seen all day.

And then, another loud growl. Not from Frost’s throat, but his stomach.

“Of course you’re hungry,” Hiccup said, bolting to the tray left in the corner. He returned with two yak chops, mashed potatoes, and lukewarm tea. Frost didn’t flinch at his offering that was victory in its own.

He took a tentative bite of the meat, eyes fluttering closed at the flavor. He made short work of them, then fumbled clumsily at with plate, sniffing the pale mash with interest.

“Potatoes,” Hiccup offered in whisper.

Frost scooped some up with a claw and tasted it.

His face lit up.

In three seconds flat, the entire dish vanished. He let out a delighted trill and looked at Hiccup with such enthusiasm that Hiccup couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, I know. Good, huh?”

But before he could say more, the door creaked.

Astrid stepped in backward, tray in hand. “Hiccup, I brought you breakfast. Do you think you could take Toothless for a quick flight? He’s been restless all—”

She turned.

The words withered on her tongue.

In front of Hiccup sat a fully awake dragon hybrid, legs crossed like a child at story time, wings curled neatly around him, tail flicking with wary grace. Surprise flickered across the hybrid’s face, but only for a breath. Then the plate clattered to the floor. Ears flattened. Pupils contracted. Blue consumed the whites of his eyes. The temperature dropped like a stone.

Furniture creaked under the shift of a tail suddenly alert.

“No, no - hey,” Hiccup said quickly, rising and stepping in front of her. “This is Astrid. She’s a friend. She won’t hurt you.”

Frost’s gaze narrowed. He jabbed a claw at his injured shoulder, then at Astrid. His scoff carried like a slap of cold wind.

“Okay - okay,” Hiccup said again. “She won’t hurt you anymore. Right, Astrid?”

Astrid’s brain scrambled to catch up. She had assumed it was a dragon - with human like festured.

“…Riiight,” she echoed, stunned.

Frost rolled his eyes. An actual eyeroll. Like a person, one with an attitude.

Astrid stepped around Hiccup slowly. He tensed, growled low but the sound was laced not with aggression, but anxiety.

She knelt. “Look. I’m sorry. Stormfly and I, we hurt you. We acted too fast. We thought—”

Frost’s eyes flicked to her, listening.

She sat where Hiccup had just been. Hiccup joined her, heartbeat steady but mind racing.

“At the cave,” she continued, “we thought you had taken Hiccup.”

Her mouth twisted. “To eat him.”

Whatever tension remained shattered. Frost stared at her in appalled silence, then looked at Hiccup, then back to Astrid, his face a mask of offended disbelief. Really? His expression said.

“There was blood outside your cave,” Astrid said gently, still watching him. “And bones. The dragons led us there. We… we thought it was his.”

For a breath, all was still.

Then Frost laughed.

It started deep and rough, like a dragon’s warble, but pitched into something raspier, breathier, unmistakably human. His whole frame shook with it until he clutched his side, gasping through the pain.

The two riders watched in stunned fascination.

He’d been ambushed because of a deer. A lunch, he couldn’t bother cleaning up.

Jack could almost hear a voice at the back of his mind pressing, “Clean your room, jack!”

Frost, still chuckling, raised his hands. Ice swirled between his fingers in delicate spirals. A stag -a sculpture of snow particles took shape and bounded across his palm. When it grew cold enough, he released it. It burst into glittering flecks that danced around the two vikings.

Astrid and Hiccup stared, awestruck.

Then Astrid blinked. “A deer… it was a deer?”

Frost nodded.

It wasn’t the tea, or the laughter, or the momentary peace that broke the calm, it was one offhanded question.

“It still baffles me how you cooked it,” Hiccup said, reclining against the beam near the cold hearth. “Is there volcanic activity in your tunnels or something?”

Frost was still chuckling softly, breath rasping with effort, when the words reached him. He blinked at Hiccup, not understanding at first. Cooked…?

And then it struck like a bolt to the spine.

The babies.

The laughter died in his throat. In an instant, his eyes widened in horror. He surged upright with a startled snarl, wings flaring. His tail whipped across the room in a flurry of panic, clattering into a table and knocking down a stack of maps. The air turned sharp with cold.

Huffjaw hadn’t returned. And he hadn’t seen her before he was taken. If she hadn’t come back, if they were alone-

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” Hiccup stood quickly, voice tight with alarm. The space was suddenly far too small for a frantic dragon.

Frost was a storm. He moved like he could force time backward, frantically gesturing, chuffing in urgent bursts. He pointed to the walls, to the sky, to nowhere, desperate to communicate, every motion laced with urgency.

Astrid and Hiccup exchanged a quick glance. The warmth of their earlier conversation was swept away in an instant. Frost’s frenzied movements began to strain his still-healing side, blood seeped faintly through bandages.

“PLEASE, calm down!” Astrid tried, stepping forward.

But he couldn’t calm down. The only creatures who had ever accepted him, slept curled against his side, chirped into his ears, nuzzled into his chest for the cold - they were alone. Possibly starving. Possibly worse.

No amount of human chatter would fix that.

He dropped lower to all fours, trying to brace against the pain, against the urge to fly now, to tear through the sky until he found them.

“Frost — Frost, hey — look at me,” Hiccup said. He moved in, gently but firmly, and took Frost’s face in both hands. The cold crept up his fingers, threatening to bite, but he didn’t let go. “We can’t understand you, not like this. You have to help us help you.”

Frost’s breath came in clouds, the mist swirling between them like fog on a battlefield.

“Sit back,” Hiccup coaxed. “Use the same thing you did with the deer, show us.”

With effort, Frost dropped to his haunches. He was taller like this, more dragon than boy, shadowed and trembling. He pressed his palms together. Light and frost bloomed between them, and four tiny orbs of snow and shimmer spun up in a frantic dance…

Only to collapse. Dissipate. Too fast. Too unstable.

Frost let out a growl of frustration, claws digging into his palms.

Hiccup placed a steadying hand on one of them. “Slow down. Breathe. That’s it. That’s it.”

This time, Frost tried something simpler. An arrow. A lump of frost shaped vaguely like an island. Wings. A cave. — home.

“You want to go back. To your island,” Astrid said, voice quiet.

Hiccup looked at her, shoulders slumping just slightly.

Frost nodded frantically, relief sweeping over him like a second wind. Yes. He pointed to the door, stepped toward it cautiously, like he wasn’t sure yet whether it would be locked.

He was testing them. Seeing if he truly wasn’t a prisoner.

Hiccup stepped forward. “Frost, you’re still healing. You can’t fly in this condition.” He placed a hand gently on Frost’s arm. “How about resting a few more days?”

Frost’s wings snapped reflexively. He jerked away, voice guttural and sharp.

“No.”

They all stopped for a moment, jacks claws slowly reaching to his throat. Gulped and tried again.
The word slipped out more softly on the second try, almost human.

“No,” he repeated, eyes pleading.

Hiccup exhaled, rubbing his neck. “Okay. Okay… let me get the gang together.”

He pointed at Frost’s face, and the hybrid leaned back instinctively, surprised.

“But you’re not flying,” Hiccup added, firm now. “I am not watching you get stitched up a third time. Deal?”

Frost blinked.

Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. Deal.

Hiccup pushed open the heavy wooden door, and with it came the bright daylight and a chorus of voices and activity from the bustling village beyond.

Berk lay stretched before them like a living tapestry: smoky hearths dotting the skyline, wooden structures clinging to the hillside, dragons of all colors weaving between rooftops perching on feeding stations. Children darted between legs and tails, laughter ringing through the morning air as they chased each other past vendors and smiths. The scent of roasting meats, salt, and fresh pine drifted in the wind.

Jack hesitated on the threshold, squinting into the brightness as his clawed hand rose instinctively to shield his eyes. The sunlight caught on the shimmering blend of frost-touched scales that veiled his arms and shoulders. For a moment, he stood perfectly still transfixed. His ice-blue gaze swept across the village with quiet awe. He had never seen a human town up close before.

Everything about it buzzed with warmth and life.

A sharp whistle from Hiccup drew his attention. “Toothless!”

A low rumble split the sky, and within seconds the obsidian blur of the Night Fury touched down, wings billowing snow into the air. With a delighted warble, Toothless bounded forward and promptly bowled into Hiccup, nearly knocking the future chief flat.

“Easy there, bud,” Hiccup laughed, bracing himself with a grin.

Then he stepped aside. “Frost, meet Toothless. Toothless, this is Frostbite.”

Jack arched a pale brow at the dragon’s name, lips twitching with bemusement. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Toothless bounded toward him with the unfiltered enthusiasm of a hatchling meeting a new friend. The Night Fury sniffed at his wings, tail, and curiously, the spot where scale met skin along Jack’s side, examining the hybrid seams with wide, curious pupils.

Jack gave an unexpected laugh, a hoarse but genuine sound, and lifted one wing to let Toothless press closer. The dragon warbled, delighted, tail flicking like an prowling cat. When Jack, curious himself, mimicked the gesture and nuzzled back ever so slightly, Toothless let out an audible gasp, pulling back to look at Hiccup as if to say Are you seeing this?! before bouncing in a circle around Jack like a giant scaly puppy.

Toothless crouched to pounce, until Hiccup quickly interjected, “No, no, he’s hurt, remember? No roughhousing. Go bother Stormfly if you must wrestle.”

The Night Fury tilted his head, chastened. His exuberance dimmed to something softer. Slowly, with surprising tenderness, he approached Jack’s bandaged side and sniffed. Jack raised his arms to let him, standing patient and still.

A soft, worried croon escaped Toothless’s throat.

Then he rose onto his haunches, carefully balancing as he inspected Jack’s face. One breath later, a sloppy, wet tongue dragged across Jack’s cheek.

“Ewww, Toothless!” Astrid laughed, elbowing Hiccup.

But it was Jack’s reaction that made them pause. He blinked at the dragon, stunned for a beat… then cracked a smile. A genuine one. The kind that reached the edges of his eyes.

He exhaled a soft puff of frost. It touched down on Toothless’s snout gently, dusting it in in a thin layer of white. The dragon twitched his nose, then gave a dopey, satisfied grin that earned another round of chuckles.

“Okay, okay, enough slobber,” Hiccup said, ruffling Toothless’s head. “We’ve got Vikings to round up. Meet you at the Great Hall in an hour.”

As he took to the air, Astrid lingered.

Jack stood rooted where he was, a subtle smile still curling his lips. The wind tousled his pale hair and ruffled his half-folded wings, one of which caught the breeze too eagerly and nearly spun him sideways. With a grumbled in surprise , he clasped them protectively against his body.

Astrid watched him with amusement. “So… what do you want to see?”

Jack blinked at her, momentarily stunned by the question. He looked a bit like a snowflake trying to figure out where to land. She smirked.

“There’s not much to explore with you grounded,” she mused aloud. “But I know! Fishlegs’ dad just finished a batch of pies. Bet he won’t mind if we steal one.”

Jack tilted his head, unsure. A shrug followed, one shoulder lifting half-heartedly.

“You’ve… had pie before, right?” she asked, teasing.

He hesitated, then softly admitted, “No.”

It was barely a whisper. He used a hum instead properly pronouncing the N. But it was clear enough carried a warmth that made her grin.

“Well then,” she said, adjusting her cloak, “we’re fixing that.”

They began their walk toward the village’s heart. Jack kept pace admirably, though Astrid quickly noticed the unevenness in his gait. His right leg faltered under his weight, the leg still tender from the burns.

She stopped.

“Give me your arm.”

Jack stared at her.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” she coaxed. “I mean, I could, but I won’t.”

Still hesitant, he extended his arm halfway, clawed fingers unsure, hovering. Astrid sighed, took matters into her own hands, and gently grasped one scaled claw. She turned, draping it over her shoulder, where her cloak’s fur lining cushioned the grip.

His hand barely brushed her. He looked down at the contact, uncertain.

“You’re supposed to lean, Frostbite,” she muttered over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna let you hobble down these stairs and faceplant into the dirt, though, for the record, it’d be hilarious.”

That earned a low huff of amusement from Jack. Slowly, cautiously, he shifted more weight onto her.

They descended into the village side by side, a curious duo watched by a handful of wary Vikings. But no one approached. Word from the Great Hall was clear: only the Riders were to interact with the creature, until they heard otherwise.

And so they walked, quiet but not uncomfortable, the scent of fresh pie urging them to pick up the pace.

The walk to the Ingerman home was lined with uneven stone steps and chimneys curling smoke into the air. The air was brisk, laced with sea salt and soot, and Jack’s breath came out in soft puffs of mist as he leaned slightly on Astrid for support.

She rapped her knuckles on the solid oak door. A beat passed, then the hinges groaned.

A towering figure filled the threshold broad shouldered, braided hair woman. Stepping into view with a warm, weathered smile, expression softening when it settled on Astrid.

“Well, if it isn’t Astrid,” she said brightly. Her eyes flicked to Jack, lingering just a second too long in surprise before she blinked it away, smile never faltering. “And you’ve brought…?”

“This is Frost,” Astrid supplied smoothly. “He’s never had pie before. Thought it was time he tried an Ingerman special.”

That earned a delighted flush of pride. “Then you’re in luck. Just pulled the last of the forest berry batch out of the oven. After this, we’re out ‘til spring thaw. Come on in.”

They were ushered into a large, inviting hall with two long tables stretching the length of the room. Everything smelled unfamiliar. Frost took it all in with silent curiosity — eyes flicking across woven tapestries, mounted dragon horns, rows of battered tankards, all alien, all vivid.

“Have a seat, lad. Mind those wings,” Mrs. Ingerman said kindly as she passed him.

Jack nodded and lowered himself carefully onto the bench. His arms hovered awkwardly over the table like he wasn’t sure where to place them. His long tail curled behind him, nearly sweeping all the way to the doorway.

Upstairs, there came a clattering. Jack’s ears twitched back, shoulders tensing.

“Don’t worry,” Astrid murmured. “That’s just Fishlegs. He’s our friend. Probably getting packed for the trip.”

Before he could respond, Mr. and Mrs. Ingerman reappeared, he with a steaming pie the size of a dragon saddle, and she with a tray of golden,brown crab cakes.

“Welcome to the Ingerman house, Frost,” said Mr. Ingerman, setting the pie down with a grunt.

“You looked hungry,” Mrs. Ingerman added, placing her tray beside it. “So I brought out a few extras.”

Jack’s cheeks tinted with blue as he bowed his head in bashful thanks.

Without ceremony, she sliced a modest piece for Astrid — and a comically large wedge for Jack, sliding it over with a wink. He hesitated, eyes darting between her and the plate.

Astrid lifted her own slice, slowly taking a bite from the edge and chewing with an exaggerated nod of satisfaction. Jack, watching intently, mirrored her. He raised the pie with both clawed hands, sniffed it tentatively, and took the tiniest bite.

His pupils dilated.

The tension melted from his shoulders, wings slackening as a low, deeply satisfied rumble escaped his chest. His tail swished behind him in lazy delight.

Astrid chuckled and gestured to Mrs. Ingerman. “Guess that’s a yes.”

“We’ll leave you be,” the older woman said, already slipping her arm through her husband’s. “Save a few crab cakes for my Fishlegs.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ingerman,” Astrid replied dutifully, offering a grateful smile.

The moment the door closed behind them, Jack dove back into his pie, a gleeful grin spreading across his Jam-dusted face. His tail thumped against the floor in rhythmic approval.

Astrid slid another wedge his way. Jack didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

Upstairs, heavy footfalls echoed. Meatlug rumbled softly from behind the building, gnawing tamzenite contentedly. Fishlegs came bounding down, saddle bags slung over both shoulders, ready for the impromptu adventure Hiccup had promised. He was halfway to the door when a familiar tail blocked his path.

He stopped short, staring down.

“…Hiccup?” he squeaked, voice jumping an octave.

The tail shifted and knocked gently against his leg.

“Not Hiccup. Come on, Fishlegs,” Astrid called from the main room.

Curious, Fishlegs stepped around the tail and peeked inside. There, nestled comfortably at their table, was a unexpected surprise : the white-haired dragon hybrid polishing off a plate of berry pie and crab cakes with the gleeful abandon of a child in a sweet shop.

Fishlegs blinked. Once. Twice.

“H-hello?” he managed.

A clawed hand, smeared in purple berry filling, lifted in a small, tentative wave.

Astrid snorted.

“This is Frost. He understands everything you say, so don’t be weird about it. And Frost? This is Fishlegs. He’s got… a bit of a thing for dragons. Don’t let the enthusiasm scare you.”

Fishlegs lit up, comprehension dawning. “Wait, he understands us? Like… language?”

Frost nodded, then tilted his hand side to side to indicate: sort of.

Astrid shrugged. “We’re still working on the speaking part.”

“Oh my Thor,” Fishlegs whispered, near breathless. “Could you answer a few questions? I have so many —“

Frost gave an amused shrug and pointed a palm up with a shrug, as if to say if he can.

Astrid rolled her eyes, grabbed a satchel from a peg, and began loading leftover crab cakes. “We’re meeting Hiccup and the others at the Great Hall. Let’s move.”

Jack looked mournfully at the table as Astrid packed away the last of the food. With a sigh, he leaned against her again, careful not to step on his own tail as they made their way back outside.

On the way to the Great Hall, Fishlegs, walking at Frost’s other side, barely contained himself.

“So, uh, do you fly? Or is it more gliding? Wing span to body ratio seems unique, can I measure it later?”
Frost gave him a sideways glance, puffed a breath through his nose, and nodded once.
“Great! Are those ice — based membranes? Do they get brittle in cold temperatures?”
A snort of amusement. A nod, then a shake of the head. Yes, ice based; no, not brittle.
“Do you sleep curled up or stretched out? Meatlug curls around me sometimes. It’s cozy.”
Frost gestured a swirl with his claw, then mimicked curling a tail.
“Fascinating. Do you have any natural enemies besides, you know… pitchfork-wielding villagers?”
Jack let out a dry trill. That seemed answer enough.
“Right, right — too soon, got it.”

They crested the snowy hilltop as Berk’s massive Great Hall came into view. Laughter echoed down the slope, two familiar figures wrestling in a tangle of limbs and snow.

The twins were at it again, Barf and Belch watching idly as their riders tried, and failed, to keep from getting knocked flat by the dragons, while they tried to balance in ice..

Jack watched the scene unfold, tilting his head, mouth twitching in faint amusement.

Maybe Berk wasn’t so terrifying after all.

 

The snow kicked up as Toothless landed, wings folding neatly by his side. Beside him, Hookfang descended in a flare of heat, steam hissing from his scales as his claws dug into the ice hardened earth. Between them hung a canvas sling, stretched taut between wooden crossbars, designed for careful transport. It looked weird but the sling was the last thing on his mind.

The instant Hookfang’s silhouette filled his vision, something twisted in Jack’s chest. The world blurred, memory and present bleeding together.

The cave. Hot breath. Pain that split his side open as they collided. He’d tried to run. He remembered that clearly, the scrape of claw against stone, the searing agony that swallowed him each time he tired for an escape.

He had been certain he would die.

Now, face to face with the same dragon, his pupils narrowed into slits. The ridges along his spine bristled, ears flattening sharply as he took an instinctive step back. His clawed hand gripped Astrid’s shoulder harder than he meant to, a silent cry locked inside him.

And then, Stormfly landed.

The Deadly Nadder, feathers ruffling, immediately began flaring her tail, reading his misting breath and low growl as a challenge.

Astrid reacted instantly.

“Stormfly, no.”

She stood between them, her shoulder scraping across Jack’s claws hard enough to tear her cloak and shred the metal lining beneath. Stormfly froze, scales twitching with instinct, eyes scanning Jack with sharp suspicion.

Toothless crooned and rushed forward, trying to wedge between the tension. Hiccup followed fast, prosthetic skidding across the ice now rapidly forming beneath their feet, slick, even, and biting cold. Riders and dragons alike lost footing as the ice spread under their feet.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Hiccup called, holding up his hands. “He won’t hurt you, look at me, Frostbite, just look at me.”

But Jack couldn’t. He was caught somewhere between fight and flight, and neither was working. Then: a thunderous crack as an axe buried itself into the ice.

“What is the meaning of this?” came the voice that followed, booming, harsh, and unyielding.

Stoick emerged from the Great Hall, cloaked in furs. His eyes landed squarely on Jack, who stood like a wild creature, claws bared, fangs glinting, and a thick aura of cold pulsing off his form. Ice curling beneath his feet, anchoring him to the earth.

Astrid’s armor was torn, claw-marks clean through steel.

“Get that thing off my island. Now.”

Hiccup flinched as though struck. “He’s not a thing,” he hissed. “And he is. We’re leaving.”

But Stoick had already turned his back.

Scratch that. Berk was terrifying.

Eventually, with patience, soft words from Hiccup, and gentle nuzzles from Toothless, the frost retreated. Jack’s breathing slowed. His claws no longer bared. But his eyes… never left Hookfang.

Hiccup made the call to transfer the sling to Barf and Belch instead. Hookfang, despite standing quietly now, couldn’t erase what lived in Jack’s memory. Every time their eyes met, the crimson dragon would avert his gaze, lowering his head..

It wasn’t malice. But his fear did not yield to apologies.

Still, Jack remained rooted in place, frozen in body and mind, until two voices shattered the tension.

 

He stood rigid at the base of the Great Hall steps, wings stiff, pupils slitted thin and sharp. Ice still clung to the ground around him, crackling faintly beneath claws. His breath rasped shallow in his throat. Astrid hovered close, unsure if she should touch him again.

No one spoke.

And then—

“Yo! Move, Icecube. You’re blocking the entrance.”

Jack didn’t react at first. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he registered a blur of braids coming toward him.

Tuffnut strode up the steps and deliberately sidled next to Jack, standing unnaturally still.

“I’ve become a statue,” he whispered dramatically. “We’re both statues now. Just two majestic, emotionally complex lawn ornaments.”

“Ugh. You’re always copying people’s breakdowns,” Ruffnut scoffed as she came up the other side, flopping down like a bored cat. “Let the frostbite dude have his moment.”

Jack blinked, barely turning his head. They were just… odd.

Tuffnut stepped in front of him suddenly. Too close. Jack’s claws twitched.

“Serious question,” he said gravely. “Can you cry ice? Because Ruff once cried blood and it caused a lot of issues at family dinners.”

“That was ketchup,” Ruffnut grumbled.

“No, you told them it was ketchup,” Tuffnut corrected. “You know Grandma panics easily.”

Jack made a confused sound low in his throat.

“See? He gets it.”

“What he gets is that your face is annoying,” Ruffnut muttered, poking at a metal connection point on dragon sling. “Ooh. Is this decorative or does it shoot blades? Please say blades.”

At this point, the rest of the group was watching from a cautious distance. Hiccup looked torn between concern and resignation.

Jack was still frozen. But not in terror now - more like… analysis. Observing. Processing. His gaze darted between them as they started bickering over whose turn it was to dramatically faint if Stoick came back out. Then Ruffnut tried to climb Jack “for scale.” Tuffnut tried to drape him in a makeshift “cape of destiny” made from what looked suspiciously like Snotlout’s spare tunic.

Snotlout, who had been sulking nearby, realized that. “Give that back!”

Tuffnut flung it over Jack’s shoulder. “Too late! He’s the new dragon czar of Berk!”

Jack blinked, tail flicking once, sharp, but not defensive.

Something inside him uncoiled just slightly.

 

At some point, Ruffnut ducked behind Jack’s wing and reappeared wearing one of his bandages as a sash.

He stared at her, completely baffled. But then his breath caught, and not because of fear.

Because he was laughing.

Not loudly. Not with his chest. But there was a visible twitch at the corners of his mouth. The kind that said I don’t want to, but I physically can’t help it.

“Victory!” Tuffnut cried, pointing triumphantly. “He has smiled! The wall of brooding ice has cracked!”

“Next up: juggling flaming crabcakes.”

“NO,” Astrid and Hiccup said in perfect unison.

The twins shared a look.

“Later,” Ruffnut whispered.

Jack shook his head, still bewildered, still smiling.

And just like that, the frost began to thaw.

With a reluctant groan and a wary glance toward Hookfang, Jack let Astrid guide him into the sling. The canvas creaked beneath him, unfamiliar and undignified. He lay belly-down, wings folded tight, tail trailing through one end while his head peeked from the other.

He should have hated it.

Instead, as the wind picked up and the dragons took to off, the sway of the sling, paired with fresh air and a full stomach - was… oddly soothing. The thrum of wings, the laughter of his companions, the distant cry of sea birds… for a brief spell, he closed his eyes.

 

The world tilted gently beneath him as he stirred. Cool air touched his face first. Then -salt. The thick scent of brine all around him. His lashes fluttered, and when his eyes cracked open, there was nothing around him but endless water.

The sea surface close. Close enough that waves licked the curve of his tail where it spilled out of the sling. The sun was slowly disappearing into the water. And there, hovering beside him with practiced ease, was Stormfly, her wings shifting rhythmically against the breeze.

Astrid leaned forward in the saddle, chin tucked over her shoulder, a smile curving her lips.

“Frostbite?,” she called over the wind. “Do you think you could freeze the sea?”

It was such a peculiar thing to ask — her tone teasing but sincere, as if it were just another item on the day’s to, do list. Jack blinked at her, baffled.

He’d never thought to try.

Still drowsy and half-tangled in furs, he adjusted slightly in the sling, his belly pressed against taut canvas, arms braced, tail trailing. The fabric creaked. He shifted his tailfin downward, until it skimmed the water’s surface.

The moment contact was made, cold began to seep out of him into the waters.

The waves stilled.

Silver-blue spread across the sea’s skin like glass. Cracks sang beneath the ice as it webbed outward in sheets, spreading wider, wider. His tail brushed the ice gently, coaxing it farther. It wasn’t perfection, there were patches, swells still breathing beneath, but the water had stilled enough.

There was a satisfying chink as the sling nestled down onto solid ice.

Jack got up and lifted a brow, gesturing vaguely at the frozen patch in front of them. Why ? he seemed to ask.

Hiccup stepped forward from Toothless’s side, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “We were hoping not to wake you,” he said. “Last time we brought you this way, you froze everything while unconscious.”

Jack stared at him. A blink. Then another. He had no idea what to do with that.

“Don’t worry,” Astrid added, hopping down lightly beside him. “It was oddly helpful. Until Ruff and Tuff tried ice fishing”

That didn’t help either.

They settled in not long after. A loose circle of bodies formed organically. Dragons curled at the edges, tails tucked, heads resting over folded limbs. Hiccup passed out furs. Shortly after they drifted off.

But Jack couldn’t sleep.

He sat at the outermost edge, staring at the horizon. The night felt, too quiet, like the sea was holding its breath. Barely audible, he hummed, low and aimless. A tune something from before, or maybe from nothing at all.

When dawn touched the sea with gold, they rose again.

Jack slipped back into his strange sling. The air was cold against his cheeks, wind whipping through his hair in soft currents. The others glided around him in companionable silence, the rhythm of wings and water merging into something almost meditative.

Until the island appeared.

It rose like a fresh breath from the sea, wreathed in mist and jagged with cliffs and forests. But there was something wrong. Even from a distance, they could all see it.

Dragons.

Everywhere.

Circling the peaks, sailing in the warmer air currents, blanketing the cliffs and ledges. At least 6 different species, maybe more.
Jack lifted his head slowly from the sling, eyes narrowing as he took it in. His heart thudded once, deep and heavy against his ribs.

The island wasn’t safe anymore.

Notes:

THANKUUU FOR READING.

I feel like im freaking hamilton with the speed i write these.

Questions concerns put in the comments im an attention seeker i will answer.

Chapter 4: Cloaked, Stiched and Emotionally Compromised

Summary:

Lots happen. (might add summary laters)

Notes:

Chapter 4

Cloaked, Stiched and Emotionally Compromised

 

(funny joke here when i think of one)r

They flew closer to the island, Jack’s island. Lush, mist-wreathed cliffs rose to greet them, Forests reached high. Waves crashed against the beach, and trees danced in the breeze. A Hobblegrunt spiraled lazily past overhead, paying no mind to them as it eyed a glimmering school of fish below.

Jack let out a worried warble. His pale gaze caught a flicker of movement in the treetops, Terrible Terrors darting between branches. Something was off. The island wasn’t quiet. It was teaming with dragons.

And the little ones he’d left behind… they wouldn’t survive without him.

His heart clenched. The island had never felt so far away.

Then, there, on the southern slope, he spotted the low curve of stone where tunnels opened. That was where he and Huffjaw kept her babies. If she’d made it back, maybe everything was still okay.

But if she hadn’t…

He swallowed the fear and tried something new. If the babies were alone then they would be hungry.

He’d never imitated her hunting call before, but he remembered the sound. When she wanted him to catch game. The soft chuffs, the rising pitch. He tilted his head and mimicked it, directing the sound toward Meatlug.

To his surprise, Meatlug gave an acknowledging rumble and peeled away, veering after the Hobblegrunt toward the coast. Accompanied by Fishlegs confused attempts to steer her back.

Jack blinked, surprised. That actually worked.

From Toothless’s back, Hiccup leaned forward, brow raised. “What did you say to her?”

Jack glanced up with a small smile, full of mischief. Hiccup rolled his eyes but smiled back, then turned forward again.

They landed near the cave mouth, warm air spilling faintly from within. Jack staggered slightly. Astrid dismounted from Stormfly and met his eyes, sensing something deeper than unease.

“You want company?” she asked gently.

Jack nodded, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder. The fear was too loud in his chest.

They entered the tunnels. The descent was uneven, steep, narrow in places, but with the dragons’ help, they managed. The further they went, the warmer it grew. Flames from dragon throats lit the way.

Astrid was the first to remove her winter gear, flashing Frost a warm smile as she shrugged off her coat. Noticing how he eyed the his claw marks in it. “Don’t worry about the tear. Honestly, it gives it character.”

Jack didn’t respond. He stared into the dark and let out a low call.

No answer.

He called again, louder, rougher. Still nothing.

Again, more forceful. Just his own echo.

His steps quickened. Mist trailed behind him as instinct stirred. Astrid stumbled slightly, the heat hitting her like a wave, but she was grateful for the dragon at her side, his chilly aura made the heat more bearable.

The tunnel twisted. The air warped with heat. Then, ahead, Ruffnut braced her hand against the tunnel wall, then yanked it away with a yelp.

“Okay, I love volcanoes,” she deadpanned, shaking her hand “but I didn’t sign up for an all-inclusive lava spa with bonus incineration.”

Jack wasn’t listening. He stopped calling. The silence was its own answer.

He let go of Astrid’s shoulder.

A sigh of relief passed through the riders as the air cooled. Spreading from the white haired boy, cold pulsing out of him. But Jack was already moving ahead, faster now. The heat clawed at his skin. Ice formed and cracked off his limbs in wet flakes. He scraped them off absentmindedly.

The chamber opened up before him.

The walls pulsed orange and red. Lava bubbled below.

Jack’s breath hitched. He looked around, squinting past the glow.

Then, he saw them.

Tiny wings, limp and motionless, protruded from the molten surface.

His scream tore through the chamber. He launched a wave of ice at the wall and stumbled forward, but the heat seared his legs, forcing him back. Their heads were still submerged. They weren’t moving.

He called again. Desperation cracked his voice. Wake up. Swim. Please.

Steam rose fast now, filling the ceiling with haze.

Then another call. Hookfang surged into the room, scattering both riders and dragons in his wake. He shoved past Jack, following his gaze.

The Monstrous Nightmare crawled up the scorched walls, lowering one mighty hook into the lava. With a snarl of effort, he pulled out the first hatchling, a limp baby Thunderpede, glowing with heat.

Jack gasped. He chuffed, frantic, pointing to where he’s seen their little backs.

Hookfang plunged his arm again. One by one, he hauled the babies out, each searing hot, each silent.

Jack collapsed to his knees, tears searing their way down his face, liquid from the heat. He reached for the nearest hatchling burned his hand and yanked it back with a cry.

He didn’t try again.

Instead, wings spread wide, curling low like a dome of snow and sky. And then, he gave everything.

Cold burst from his core like a storm breaking free. Ice spiraled across stone. Frost clawed its way up the walls.

 

Hiccup trailed behind, arms crossed and expression vaguely sulky. He tried to tell himself it was just the heat that made him irritable. He watched as Frost leaned heavily on Astrid. His breath came shallow and strained, shoulders trembling. She never faltered. Never asked. Just pressed forward with him, silent and steady. He didn’t know why it made him mad the way Jack’s head tilted slightly toward her every time he stumbled.

He was gone for under an hour, he thought bitterly. And somehow you already trust her more than me.

He knew it wasn’t fair. He knew Jack didn’t mean to push people away, half the time he seemed afraid to be near them. But something about how quickly he’d chosen Astrid gnawed at the back of Hiccup’s ribs like a hunger.

It’s good, Hiccup told himself. He needs people. He needs her. So why does it feel like this?

He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow just as the passage ahead began to glow, a flicker of warm light that danced along the tunnel walls. His frown deepened.

Then he heard the sound.

It wasn’t a roar. It wasn’t even a cry. It was a wail, high and soul-tearing, echoing down the stone.

Hiccup broke into a run.

Ahead, Astrid, Stormfly, and the twins had already surged forward.
Hiccup moved to follow, but Hookfang shot past him like a meteor. One of the dragon’s claws slammed into Hiccup’s shoulder, knocking him to the floor. He hit the stone hard. Dust and heat bit into his skin as Hookfang charged ahead, crashing through the line of riders and dragons.
Hiccup scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, and sprinted past Tuffnut and Barf & Belch who were still untangling themselves from the ground. Then, he reached the chamber.

He stumbled to a halt beside Astrid, whose hand covered her mouth in horror. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Hiccup followed her gaze, and his breath caught in his throat.

Hookfang clung to the ceiling by his claws, precarious but resolute, his teeth bared as he hauled small, bright bodies from a lava pool below. Babies, Thunderpede babies, dripping molten heat and glowing not with life, but with the searing touch of magma. Their tiny wings hung limp. No movement. No sound.

At the foot of the lava bed, Jack was trembling. His hands were outstretched, directing Hookfang with desperation carved into every motion. Water dripped from his arms, sizzling as it hit the blackened stone. Hiccup squinted into the steam, eyes widening.

There, little bumps beneath the lava’s surface. Uneven rises. Tiny wings.

The last hatchling, his smallest, Burp, was pulled free. Hookfang placed it reverently at Frost´s feet.

The boy fell to his knees.

He knelt beside them and tried to scoop one into his arms, but the skin of his palm sizzled against their superheated scales. He jerked away, pain etched deep in his expression.

Then, wordlessly, he spread his wings around the four tiny bodies, curving low, as if to shield them from a world they could no longer feel and gave a sound unlike anything Hiccup had ever heard.

A scream, a plea, a storm.

The air snapped.

A blizzard erupted from within Frost’s wings, a cyclone of white and ice that howled across the chamber. Wind whipped through their clothes and staggered the dragons back. Steam exploded off the lava surface, hissing into the air before freezing instantly into delicate snowfall. Flames guttered. Lava dimmed.

And then, the light died.

The chamber plunged into frigid darkness.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Hiccup stepped forward slowly, drawing Inferno from his belt. He lit it with a cautious flick, the blade’s soft glow illuminating the cavern now blanketed in white. Ice clung to the walls. Hoarfrost coated the ceiling like stars in the dark.

A shape shifted above them, Hookfang, sneezing delicately before shaking the snow from his back.

Then, silence again.

All eyes turned to Frost.

He knelt alone. Wings unfurled, draped behind him like broken sails. , temple resting gently against the rigid, ash-white body of his littlest dragon. His tears were frozen to his cheeks. His gaze was fixed and distant.

The others filtered in one by one. Ruffnut and Tuffnut didn’t crack a joke. The Zippleback lowered its heads in unison. Even Stormfly stepped with careful reverence as they formed a solemn circle around the still bodies.

Dragons and riders stood as one as a family that had just witnessed something irrevocable.

Then, from the tunnel above, came a soft whirring, Meatlug’s wings. And behind it, the shuffle of Fishlegs, arms full of fresh-caught fish.

He walked into a room with a jolly hum before he halted.

The food slid from his hands as his gaze landed on the still little forms that didn’t need it anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fishlegs didn’t move. His arms, empty now, hung limp at his sides. The fish he’d brought lay scattered on the floor. His eyes were fixed on the small, still bodies nestled between Frost’s arms. His lips parted, trembling on silence before forming words not spoken as comfort, but as witness.

“There’s a… rare subspecies of Thunderpede,” he whispered, voice catching in his throat. “Relatives of the Eruptodon. Furnace Thunderpedes. They’re born in heat, survive by it, but only if there’s someone to pull them back before it becomes too much.”

He swallowed hard. “Without help… without something to cool them down… they overheat. Even with parents, if they’re not furnace-adapted themselves, sometimes they don’t even know the danger until it’s already…”

His voice trailed off.

Astrid gasped softly. Her eyes followed the cracks in the stone floor, the warped shine of melted rock and the soot-caked ice trying to reclaim it. “This wasn’t a volcano,” she said, stunned. “They melted the ground…”

Snotlout stood beside her, posture stiff and unusually quiet. He stared ahead, at the boy he’d feared , the creature he’d doubted. Not a dragon. Not a rider. Not even quite human.

But now… now, he saw him differently.

“Let’s give him some space,” Snotlout said, softly, more of a suggestion than a command. He turned and walked out, Barf and Belch following with quiet steps, twins joining them, without cracking jokes this time.

Fishlegs lingered. One last glance. One slow, aching breath.

“Come on, girl,” he murmured, laying a gentle hand on Meatlug’s snout as they turned to follow.

Astrid sent Hiccup a sad smile before exiting along with stormfly and hookfang.

And suddenly, it was just Hiccup.

He stood at the edge of the aftermath, staring at the boy curled around his sorrow, unmoving, barely breathing. He looked more like ice than flesh now, his skin laced with it, his lashes rimmed in frozen tears. His shoulders trembled, but not from the cold.

For the first time, Hiccup hesitated.

All his life, he’d reached for dragons, to touch, to calm, to connect. But this? This wasn’t a dragon, or a human, or anything so easily understood. This was a boy made of winter and grief. And still, something in Hiccup moved.

He stepped closer and placed a hand gently on Jack’s shoulder.

It burned.

Not from heat, but from cold so deep it pierced. His palm prickled, skin biting in protest. But he didn’t move. He let it rest there, quiet and steady, grounding Jack in the only way he could.

Jack let out a sound then. Not a word, just a broken, trembling call. A small, high croon that echoed off the icy walls. He waited. Then another, fragile, desperate. But no answer.

Toothless moved quietly behind them, his paws padding over the snow blanketed stone. He lowered his head, letting out a low, tentative croon. Gentle. Questioning.

Jack didn’t respond.

He just held the hatchlings tighter, their now bodies now cold unmoving, his face pressed close like maybe, if he just stayed there, none of it would be real.

Toothless warbled again, louder this time, and tilted his head to try and meet Jack’s eyes.

Then… a sound.

A soft burp, barely audible but not from Jack.

He flinched.

A yawn followed croaky, sluggish. Then a stretch. Small limbs shifting slowly. A faint orange glow shimmered from the baby dragons’ spines like embers of a dying campfire.

Jack remained frozen, eyes wide, breath caught halfway.

Hiccup let out a stunned laugh, wonder breaking through the ache like a sunbeam through stormclouds. “Frost,” he whispered.

A second hatchling stirred, then another. The pile beneath him rustled gently, a symphony of sleepy chirps and stretching wings. One paw curled around Jack’s arm. Another nosed against his ribs.

Ice cracked.

Jack moved and the frozen condensation across his skin shattered. His ears twitched, head lifting just slightly.

He let out another croon. This time it broke halfway through, sharp with disbelief.

Toothless chirped, pupils wide with joy, tail thumping the ground.

The little dragons began to wiggle free, crawling over Jack with sluggish movements like they just woken up from a long nap. They burrowed against him instinctively, curling into the safety of his frame.

And Jack—

Jack laughed.

Wet and trembling. He clutched them close, crooning again and again, each sound answered by tiny tongues and gentle paws and sleepy eyes.

One of the babies licked his nose, its paw grabbing around his wrist. He laughed harder, louder, smile blooming so wide and bright it could have split the stone itself.

Hiccup stepped back, heart tight in his chest.

He would give anything, he thought, anything at all, just to make him smile like that again.

Jack rocked gently with the little ones in his arms. His joy was so complete it looked fragile, as if touching it too soon might break it. After a long moment, Frost blinked and looked up. Then, slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet.

He stumbled over to the pile of forgotten fish.

They were frozen together now, covered in rime, but he crouched down, clawing them loose, breaking each chunk free. The babies, now glowing faintly, waddled after him, wobbling as they followed his voice.

Jack trilled softly. The four dragonlings chirped back.

They began to eat, slow, messy, alive.

 

Hiccup moved quietly, stepping closer to where the baby dragons were scarfing down half-frozen fish with single-minded glee. Their little tails thumped against the stone, paws pressed into the ice as they gnawed at slippery scales. But it wasn’t the hatchlings Hiccup was watching.

It was Frost.

He was crouching among them, eyes luminous, utterly transfixed, as though he couldn’t quite believe they were real. That they were here, alive, noisy and messy and gleeful as ever. His breath fogged faintly, curling in little clouds around his lips, but the expression on his face was all summer.

He looked up.

Their eyes met, and something soft bloomed in the space between them. Relief, still raw at the edges. Wonder. The absurd, too-big joy of a second chance.

They both smiled. Silly. Without hesitation.

Then Jack laughed, a wild, wordless thing and sprang to his feet like a spark had lit beneath him. He spun in place, bounding once in a circle, then lunged toward Hiccup with a grin that should have cracked the world.

Before Hiccup could react, he was swept into the air, arms around his middle, legs dangling as Jack whirled him in tight, dizzying circles.

“Woah Frost!”

They both laughed. Jack’s was sharp and bright; Hiccup’s breathless and utterly charmed. Snowflakes clung to his tunic as the cold wrapped around him, but his face was flushed with warmth.

When Jack finally slowed, he gently set Hiccup back down. His ears tucked back bashfully, eyes darting downward.

Sorry, he mouthed.

Hiccup opened his mouth to respond, but slipped, the smooth ice beneath his prosthetic offering no grip. His foot shot backward/

But Jack didn’t let go.

One arm stayed steady at Hiccup’s waist, anchoring him with an ease so instinctive it felt like second nature. Only when Hiccup found his footing again did Jack ease his hand away, fingers brushing once against the fabric before releasing.

Hiccup glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He kind of wished Jack hadn’t let go.

Just then, a familiar cry filled the cavern, Toothless, loud and jubilant, his warble echoing through the tunnels like a celebration bell.

Moments later, chaos erupted.

Dragons poured in from the passage, bounding, skidding, tumbling into each other in the narrow space. The circle filled with rustling wings and thumping tails, eyes wide and shining locking onto the little bundles. Each of them went low, noses to the frost, sniffing excitedly toward the hatchlings.

The little ones peeked out from behind Jack’s legs, watching the newcomers with wide eyes and twitching snouts. Their backs glowed faintly, but their bodies stayed still, uncertain.

Jack gave a soft, rolling croon. He dipped his head low in reassurance, then gently nudged his tail behind them, urging the little ones forward.

They stepped out. One by one.

Fizz led the charge. He trotted up to Meatlug, sniffing delicately at her broad snout, then gave her a tiny lick.

Meatlug vibrated, an entire-body wiggle of joy that shook everything in the saddle bag.

Whistle crept toward Stormfly, enchanted by the movement of her tail as she slowly flicked it back and forth. Whistle chirped once, head tilted, and Stormfly gave a soft trill in response.

Crackle, the wildest of the bunch, didn’t hesitate. He barreled straight for Hookfang, tumbled onto his outstretched wing, and rolled with a delighted squeak down the slope of muscle. Hookfang huffed, surprised, but then lowered his head, letting it rest on the stone. He blew a soft puff of smoke toward Crackle’s snout.

The baby sneezed, blinked, and spun in a happy circle, tail wagging furiously.

And then there was Burp.

Burp waddled forward slowly, no rush at all, and plopped down right between Barf and Belch’s twin heads. He blinked at each one in turn, once, then again, each lid sliding shut at its own pace.

The Zippleback heads blinked back. Neither moved. It was a perfect stalemate of derp.

Around them, the dragons eased into joy, snorts and chirps and soft rumbles swelling into a chorus of warmth. The chill of the chamber remained, but it no longer bit.

 

Astrid and the others didn’t go far, they went far enough to be out of earshot.

The dragons carried them up through narrow ledges and outcroppings, wind threading between stones as the riders dismounted in silence. They stood in a loose circle, and for a long time no one spoke.

Not because they didn’t have anything to say. But because nothing they said could undo what happened.

Snotlout stood with fists clenched, breathing hard. Then, without warning, he turned and drove a boot into the cavern wall. The stone cracked, dust tumbling in a weak stream to the floor.

Fishlegs rubbed at his eyes, not sure when the tears had started, only that they weren’t stopping.

Astrid’s arms were crossed tight. Her jaw set, eyes shimmering. Tuffnut stared at the ground. Ruffnut rubbed the back of her neck and didn’t joke. Even she couldn’t find something to say at a moment like this.

They all knew the truth.

If they hadn’t attacked Frost when they arrived, if they’d just listened, those babies would’ve been safe. He would’ve been there. He never would’ve left.

Guilt pressed in from every side like the weight of a mountain.

Even the dragons felt it.

Stormfly’s crests lay flat against her skull. Hookfang sat with his chin on his talons. Meatlug didn’t whine or hum, just blinked slowly, eyes glossy. Barf and Belch flanked their riders, unmoving.

Then a sound.

A sharp, echoing call, rippling down from the cavern below, sharp and joyful, layered and alive.

Every dragon’s head snapped up at once.

Then they bolted.

“Stormfly! Stormfly, WAIT!” Astrid shouted, scrambling for her saddle.

“Hookfang, DUDE!” Snotlout howled, running after him.

Too late.

All of them were airborne or scrambling down the rocks before a single rider could mount. The humans exchanged frantic glances, then took off on foot slipping, climbing, scrambling down jagged stone at reckless speeds. The stone scraped at their palms, but they didn’t stop.

Something had changed.

They reached the threshold of the cavern wide-eyed and panting, ready for battle.

They were prepared for anything .

Expect joy.

Dragons danced in the narrow chamber—snouts dipping, wings fluttering. Stormfly crooned, tail whipping back and forth in excitement. Meatlug wiggled with so much force. Hookfang’s tail whipped around in excitement .

And at the center of it all

The four Thunderpede hatchlings.

Alive.

Scampering through the frost-slick floor, tripping over their own too-many feet, chirping wildly. They chased tails and licked snouts, pressed into dragon muzzles with abandon.

Jack stood not far off, utterly soaked with affection. His smile could’ve powered half of Berk.

It was Fishlegs who broke first.

A choking sound escaped him, a hich between a sob and a laugh, and then the tears returned, falling freely as he collapsed beside Meatlug and Fizz. “They’re okay, they’re… oh Odin, they’re okay!”

Snotlout raised a fist to the sky. “YEAAAHHHHH!” he roared, leaping high enough to knock his head against a stalactite. He didn’t even flinch.

Astrid covered her mouth, breath catching in disbelief, her eyes never leaving Jack. Then she smiled, a small, reverent thing, and shook her head, overwhelmed.

Ruffnut knelt by Crackle and let him crawl up her arm like a scarf. “All hail Fire Dumpling the Third,” she said proudly. “Long may he wiggle.”

Barf and Belch blinked in tandem as Burp crawled straight onto their faces. They didn’t protest.

Tuffnut ran full-force into a wall, arms spread wide, then rebounded and whispered, “My heart is doing weird things. I think it’s feeling.”

And Hiccup?

Hiccup exhaled.

For the first time in what felt like days, he let himself believe it was over.

That the storm had passed.

They were tired. Not the kind of tired you sleep off, but the hollow, soul-wrung exhaustion that came after grief, relief, and joy had tangled so tightly, you couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.

So, when the dragons took to the skies again, they only flew a short while, riders half-dozing in their saddles, the hatchlings snug in the claws of several dragons.

They landed near the river. The soft gurgling of water welcomed them, not completely forzen. The thunderpedes immediately scrambled down the slope, slipping and chirping, only to tumble into the shallows with delighted trills. They played. Splashing the way while the rest made their way to the shore.

The older dragons lined the bank, gulping down water greedily. Riders knelt beside them, filling waterskins, wiping grime from their cheeks with wet sleeves.

Jack didn’t join them.

He stood at the edge of the river, crunching thoughtfully on a small ball of snow, gaze quiet. Unfazed. Meditative.

Fishlegs wandered over, curiosity pulling at his brow. “How come you’re not drinking?”

Jack didn’t answer at first. He crouched slowly and dipped a clawed hand into the river—fingers delicate, careful. Ice rushed outward in an instant, a sudden lace of frost webbing from his touch. He yanked his hand back before it spread too far, holding up a block ice encasing his arm.

Fishlegs gasped. “Fascinating…” He leaned closer. “Instant phase transition triggered by emotional state or internal temperature? Is it voluntary or- ”

The ice cracked in Jack’s hand as he bent his claws around it. He gave a small shrug and bit into another snowball.

Behind them, the twins had returned to the sculpture army.

What started as an extension to the snow dragons became something far stranger: multi-winged beasts, horned snow-stags, something that looked suspiciously like a snake with antlers and, yes, a chicken wearing a crown.

“His name is chicken,” Tuffnut introduced .

Snotlout, not to be outdone, set to work carving what he loudly declared was a “majestic tribute” to himself. The results were… generous in stature.

Jack, with no flourish, began to carve Huffjaw.

It started as a humble curve of snow, barely noticed among the chaos. But slowly, the details emerged, arched wings, narrowed eyes, the slight downturn of a smile she only ever gave the hatchlings. The lines were precise. Loving.

When the others noticed, they began drifting closer. Then, one by one, joined in.

Soon the riverbank was lined with snowy dragons, sculptures towering and hunched, intricate and abstract. Some bore stones. Some wore twigs. Some were unmistakably specific, Meatlug, Toothless, Stormfly, etched into frost with reverence and toothy grins.

Inevitably, it all devolved into a snowball war.

It began when Ruffnut launched the first strike, smashing her “Pegasus” right into Snotlout’s smug jaw. He retaliated immediately, scooping and flinging so fast it was clear he’d trained for this.

Jack ducked one incoming snowball only to land a perfect hit in Hiccup’s face.

Fishlegs got ambushed from behind.

Astrid climbed a boulder for the high ground, until Whistle knocked her down with a headbutt.

They howled. They tumbled. They called for backup.

Dragons joined the fray with glee, Toothless flipping entire mounds into the air, Stormfly using tail-spikes for counter airstrikes, Barf and Belch coordinating headbutts like professionals.

In the end, only three remained standing: Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and Jack, each holding an impressive amount of ammunition. Giggling like madmen atop a barricade of snow fortifications.

“Fall before the Thorstons and Thorstee.” Ruffnut bellowed.

The rest, in faux defeat, sent their dragons in.

The trio dissolved into laughter as the wave of scales and wings finally tackled them to the ground.

By the time the chaos settled, the riverbank was a mess of crumpled snow forts and lopsided dragons, some sculptures had survived. Jack wandered back through them, sealing each standing piece with a gentle breath of ice, locking them in glistening permanence before the sun could melt them away.

He reached Hiccup’s sculpture last, a terrible terror with curled wings and a goofy grin. He pressed a hand to its snout, exhaled a soft stream of frost.

Hiccup, standing nearby, watched him. Then, his eyes flicked to the Thunderpede sculpture Jack had built earlier.

It was beautiful.

Round-body towering , six legs supporting it, as tail curled to cradle invisible hatchlings.

“Is that their mother?” he asked, voice low.

Jack nodded.

Hiccup stepped beside him. “Where is she? Do you know?”

Jack’s expression faltered. He shook his head once, slow.

Just then, a soft sound, half chirp, half sigh, made them look down.

The hatchlings had gathered around the snow sculpture. They chuffed quietly, pawing at it, pressing noses to the frozen flank with hesitant affection.

That’s when Hiccup’s eyes widened.

“You weren’t flying to meet us,” he whispered. “You were looking for her.”

Jack nodded again.

“Look, If you’re the only one looking after them. And you can’t fly, can’t fight, not in this state. And with all these dragons circling, plus hunters sniffing around…”
Hiccup’s voice trails off. About to offer Frost a place to stay, when his eyes narrow, gears turning.
”…Hunters. Wait, the hunters.

 

Something deeper twisted in Hiccup’s gut, a pattern taking shape. “There were three ships,” he murmured. “We only sank two. The third one… it got away. That’s where she is. She has to be”

He turned to Jack with a new kind of fire in his chest. “We’re going after it.”

The others, catching the tone, gathered instinctively around dragons forming a loose arc behind them, wings half-raised. Hiccup stood tall.

“We’ll get her back.”

He turned, extending a hand. Behind him, the riders of Berk. Ready. Waiting.

“Will you come with us?”

Before Jack could answer, Crackle zipped past in a blur of reckless joy, chirping wildly as he skidded into the snow.

Hiccup laughed.

“With them, of course.”

Jack looked at the hand, at the invitation, and didn’t take it.

He slapped it aside and pulled Hiccup into a tight, icy hug.

Soft laughter filled the filled the air.

 

As the sun passed its peak, the group debated how best to shepherd their strange, stitched-together family to the from this island to dragons edge. Babies chirped and yawned in the sling that threatened to unravel, and Jack, with wings too unpredictable and wounds too fresh, was in no state to fly. The sling alone would not suffice.

So, Astrid dove for the bones of a wreck of the ship they sunk a few days back. The twins scavenged tarp-strips from a beached sail. Together they fished a ship from the shallows of the sea and, with salt-rough hands and ingenuity of vikings all too accustomed to rubble, coaxed it into a makeshift flying raft.

While the others bent their backs to the task, Fishlegs and Hiccup followed Jack home.

The cave yawned empty, the air cool and perfumed faintly of frost and lichen. Jack hesitated at the threshold. Then, slowly he drew his claws along the stone walls, walls that had once echoed only his own voice. Years of solitude had etched themselves into the grain of the rock and the slump of his shoulders.

He knelt by a pile of furs, trying with delicate frustration to fold them without slicing through the fabric. His claws didn’t cooperate. They never had. Fishlegs wordlessly took over, his hands gentle as he tucked each pelt into a neat bundle.

He crossed the room slowly, until his shin struck something hard. He winced, glancing down. There, forgotten at the foot of the far wall, a scaled helmet, its surface cracked, flaking blood. His breath hitched. Then, without a word, he bent down, scooped it up, and tossed it to Hiccup.

Jack drifted toward the shelves protruding from the cave’s walls. They bore stones he’d stacked and twigs arranged with precision, monuments to years of loneliness and the need to create something. Anything. His hand hovered, faltered.

Then it landed on a tattered length of braided string.

It was frayed from years of touch. Knotted in strange rhythms. Dangling at its end was a smooth riverstone, blue as glacial runoff. It had no purpose, never did, but it was his. The only thing that he woke up with that survived the winters and the silence.

He cradled it in his palms like it might vanish.

Hiccup approached, silent, watching with a kind of hesitant care. “You seriously need some pockets,” he said, a smile curling under his words. “Want me to hold that for you?”

Jack didn’t answer, just clutched the relic to his chest, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Hiccup came from a world where humans held dragons, not hunted them. Where kinship stretched across species. He’d offered Jack shelter, sanctuary, for him and his patchwork clutch of winged siblings. He’d never flinched at the cold of Jack’s touch or the frost haloing his hair.

Jack’s hand trembled as he extended the string to him. Hiccup mirrored the gesture and let the treasure drop into his palm. Slowly, deliberately, Hiccup opened a small leather pouch stitched into the chest of his armor. He placed the string inside like it was made of gold. “You can have it any time,” he said, thumb brushing the clasp closed. “I’ll get you a pocket soon.”

Jack nodded, mute.

“Is that all you need?” Hiccup asked softly.

Jack turned toward his shelves once more. The furs were handled. The twine and stones, relic of a past better left behind. Only one thing remained, rows and rows of wooden jars. Filled with berries frozen in perfect winter: raspberries, blackcaps, tiny frost-blue fruits whose names he’d never learned. Three arched stone shelves, packed from end to end.

He hadn’t thought them important. Until now.

He pivoted slowly, deliberately, and stared at Fishlegs.

Fishlegs, working on the leathers absently whistling, looked up and startled. “Uhh…?”

Jack bounced once on his good foot, then the other. The excitement welled too strong; he spun in place, tail flicking against the stone. He grabbed one jar and hopped toward Fishlegs like a child presenting treasure. Carefully, reverently, he unsealed the lid.

Frozen raspberries. Ripe and bright.

Fishlegs looked at the berries. Then at Jack. Then back at the berries.

Jack leaned in, ears twitching.

Fishlegs’s face lit up in realization. “WAIT. You mean… for the pies?!”

Jack recoiled slightly at the volume, ears flattening, but nodded with such force his nose nearly bumped the jar. Then he spun toward the shelves and flung both arms out in presentation. Every jar. Every berry. Every wild fruit pickled or frozen across seasons. All of it.

“For all of them?” Fishlegs gawked, awe-struck. “That’s enough for the whole winter!”

Their energy ricocheted around the cave. Jack’s tail lashed joyfully, and in its exuberance, it swept Hiccup’s legs clean from under him. He hit the floor with a soft “oof” and a baffled blink.

Jack winced. Not from pain, but from sheepish, uncontainable mirth.

 

It took a few trips, hauling the last of the furs and jars onto the raft. The makeshift airship bobbed gently as they packed it layer by layer: three dragonloads’ worth of frozen fruit, neatly tucked into crates alongside tightly rolled pelts. Ropes were fastened between what remained of the fractured deck, every knot a small insurance against the wind.

Jack rode the contraption all the way there.

He stayed perched near the stern, talons curled in the splintered wood. His eyes didn’t stray far from the littlest ones, who clambered and chirped along the edges far too close for his comfort. Every wingbeat of turbulence had him bracing, his tail a coiled spring ready to catch any babies who might fall.

Dragon’s Edge appeared on the horizon within the hour. Sea spires scratching the bottom of the deck. The ship groaned as it was lowered gently onto the beach, tipped over into the sand unceremoniously.

The hatchlings erupted first, tumbling off in chaotic spirals. Their feet kicked up sand as they scattered, running ecstatic circles with shrieks of freedom.

All except Fizzle.

The tiny dragon was a soft, snoring lump draped over one of the crates. Jack scooped him into his arms, careful not to wake him, and stepped down into the warm, shifting sand. His knees buckled slightly from the weight, but he didn’t complain. The moment was… still.

Behind him, the dragon riders descended from the sky with practiced grace, their dragons landing in soft thuds against the shore.

“Welcome to Dragons Edge, Frost,” Hiccup said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand to the island unfurling behind him, huts nestled into cliffside nooks, watchtowers standing tall, colors splashed along every building.

The twins touched down next, yawning dramatically and stretching like cats. Ruffnut squinted at Jack through tangled hair and muttered, “So wait… if you’re, like, half-human, half-dragon… do you sleep in a hut or in the stables?”

Tuffnut nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Or do you just hang upside down from a tree and hiss at people?”

Jack’s expression bounced from speaker to speaker, caught somewhere between confusion and panic. He didn’t know the answer. Except for the hissing part, he was more of a growler.

Astrid stepped in smoothly, arms crossed over her chest. “How about we show him around and let him decide then, hmm?”

The group agreed, falling into a lopsided parade as they moved up to the outpost. Hatchlings darted around their legs in unpredictable bursts. Dragons trailing behind made an impromptu effort to herd the little ones, sometimes effectively, sometimes not.

They passed each hut in turn, Snotlout proudly announcing the landmarks as if he were giving a royal tour. “And this!” he said, pointing at an archway with a metal ‘S’ hanging off of it, “Is my place. The ‘S’ stands for Snotlout, obviously.”

“Actually,” Ruff interrupted, “I’m pretty sure it stands for ‘Stench.’”

“Yeah,” Tuff added with a solemn nod. “Or ‘Swamp Butt.’”

As if summoned by the noise, Barf and Belch waddled over, heads balanced under a very drowsy baby Burp, who was snoring loudly into their necks.

One by one, the baby dragons began to slow, yawns interrupting their excitement. Some tried to resist, blinking in protest. Others simply flopped on the ground, tail-over-nose.

“Awwww,” Fishlegs breathed, absolutely glowing. He swept Whistle up like practiced oarent. “Let’s get these little nuggets to bed.”

The group shifted into baby duty, Astrid guiding Crackle, Snotlout pretending to be grossed out by Fizzle clinging to his hair (but not putting him down), the twins good-naturedly arguing over who’d tuck in Burp. Laughter, dragon chatter, and exhausted snorts followed them to the stables.

Jack slowed.

The stables loomed before him, beams like ribs, dark and wood-smelling, everything too much like cages. His steps grew hesitant, his hand drifting up to grip his opposite elbow.

Then Stormfly. graceful, sure-footed—opened her stall with a gentle push of her snout and settled onto the straw with a pleased thrum. No chains. No locks. Just reptile comfort.

Still, unease crawled beneath Jack’s skin.

Hiccup must’ve noticed. He stepped beside him and laid a hand gently on Jack’s upper back. “You don’t have to stay here, many of our dragons don’t either” he said, voice low. “We’ve got locks, yeah, but only for emergencies. Sick dragons, wounded ones. Not… not you.”

Jack nodded slowly. But his ears didn’t rise. The tension clung.

The babies were tucked into the corner stall, a soft pile of warmth and limbs and gentle snoring. The grown dragons took up their own spaces although Hookfang claimed barf and belches spot next to the hatchlings. The others gave soft goodbyes, yawns infecting everyone.

But Jack lingered.

He leaned against the frame of the stable door, watching the little ones sleep—his strange found-family breathing slow and even. Expression guarded.

“Do you want to stay?” Astrid asked softly, reappearing beside him. “You can come with us, you know. We’ve got spare rooms. You could bunk with me. Or Hiccup.” She hesitated, glancing at her friend. Hiccup looked suddenly very invested in the floor.

Jack turned, his wings rustling faintly. Ears low, shoulders higher than they should be, he offered a small smile. And then he nodded toward the hatchlings, his choice as clear as the blue in his eyes.

“Alright,” Astrid said gently. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Hiccup hesitated until Astrid elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Ow,” he muttered, shuffling toward the exit. The stable door was left ajar behind them, not forgotten, but intentional.

A gesture of trust.

The island quieted. Torches dimmed. The only sounds now were the rustle of wings and the slow, breaths of dreaming dragons.

Jack eased down beside the stall.

He tried to sleep. He really did.

But the floor was cold. His bruised ribs ached. He tried curling his wing beneath him like he used to, but it only made things worse. Delicate bones protested, the chill bled through the membrane.

He shifted. And shifted again.

Eventually, he lay on his side, tail curled around his shins, wing draped awkwardly like an ill-fitting blanket. He could hear the rest breathing, soft and undisturbed. He wanted that calm. That peace. He tossed and turned which just made him ache more.

 

Sleep evaded Hiccup like a changewing evaded people .

He tossed. Turned. Got up. Sat down. Unpacked his satchels, slid sketchbooks into drawers. Tidied. Tidied again. Poked at his half-assembled mechanical project and left it half-assembled. Restlessness crawled under his and it did nit want to settle.

Toothless watched all this with the judgment of a deeply inconvenienced feline. With a huff and a flick of his ears, the Night Fury heated the stone slab beneath him and exhaled a hot puff toward Hiccup’s boot. That, apparently, was enough.

That’s when it hit him.

 

Frost’s cave, warm and homely. A den carved by solitude and soft intention. Furs arranged over heated stone, jars of fruits stacked by season, shafts of morning light through hanging decoration of moss. A space that was comfort by design.

And now Jack was in a stable.

No.

Hiccup bolted upright. He shouldn’t have let it stand, not for a second.

“Toothless,” he whispered, already gathering blankets and supplies, “I need your help.”

 

Jack was folded into the farthest corner of the stable, opposite the sleeping hatchlings. Knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around himself. His tail lay limp across the straw, twitching occasionally with the shiver that wouldn’t quite leave.

Too cold to sleep. Too tired to stay awake.

His head lolled against his knees, breath fogging faintly in the night air. He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were directly in front of him, didn’t register the figure until Hiccup’s voice cut softly into the dark.

“You’re not staying here.”

Jack blinked blearily, ears twitching. Confused. Disoriented.

Hiccup motioned with his hand. “Come on.”

Jack stared at it like it was a trap. Hiccup sighed with a frustrated breath. “Take the hand, you muttonhead.”

He didn’t wait. He reached down and gripped Jack’s smooth-scaled wrist, tugging him upright with an urgency that brooked no argument.

Jack stood, swaying slightly, uncertainty written across his face. He cast one last look toward the babies, still afraid to leave them.

“Hookfang’s got it,” Hiccup said, nodding toward the next stall.

And sure enough, Hookfang reacted. His gold eyes blinked slowly, knowingly, and with a sigh, he rose, slinking toward the little ones. His presence was silent but colossal. He settled in their stall, tail curling protectively around the sleeping heap. Watching. Keeping eye contact. Waiting for Jack to refuse.

Jack didn’t.

He swallowed, exhaled shakily, and let himself be led.

 

They walked in silence through the moon lit walkways. Snow clinging to rooftops. Their footsteps the only noise around. The wind quiet as breath.

Hiccup didn’t release Jack until they reached the hut.

“This is mine,” he said, pushing the door open. “And now it’s yours. Until we build one that’s all your own.”

Inside, the hearth glowed low. A massive cot sat nestled into the corner of the main room, draped in layers of fur and linen, soft enough to sink into and never resurface. In the center of the floor, Toothless lay sprawled like a contented boulder, tail thumping eagerly when he saw Jack.

There was a moment, half a heartbeat, where Jack looked frozen in time. One foot inside the door, expression unreadable, eyes flicking between the cot, the dragon, and Hiccup.

“This is yours for tonight,” Hiccup said gently, gesturing. “Mine’s over there. Tomorrow, you can change whatever you like.”

Jack opened his mouth. No words came. Just an utterly shocked expression that tugged at something deep in Hiccup’s chest.

Toothless solved the standoff.

With no regard for anyone’s dignity, he walked over and nudged Jack bodily toward the cot. The hybrid stumbled, blinked, then let himself fall.

It wasn’t just soft. It was warm.

Jack sank deeper, scales against linen, letting out a disbelieving sigh.

“Not as fancy as your original,” Hiccup muttered from across the room, smiling. “Toothless warmed this one, so it’ll fade eventually.”

Jack didn’t care. He melted into it, the tension melting with him.

Hiccup walked over and dropped a heavy bundle across his chest.

Jack’s eyes snapped open in surprise

“Blanket,” Hiccup supplied, smug.

Jack rolled his eyes but with real, honest amusement this time. A sleepy smile tugged at his mouth, unguarded.

Hiccup retreated to his side of the room, draping his own blanket over himself with exaggerated flourish. Jack watched, blinking slowly, bemused by the performance. He knows what a blanket is. Kinda.

Toothless, not one to leave things halfway, padded over to the cot and promptly curled around Jack like a living, breathing wall. His tail draped across Jack’s knees. One wing followed.

For a moment, Jack just stared. Then… allowed it.

Hiccup’s voice was soft from the other side of the room. “Tomorrow we’ll figure out what you need. Slab. Bed . Fur pile. Whatever.”

Jack’s only reply was a bleary blink.

Hiccup sighed, reached down, and twisted off his prosthetic. The click echoed in the quiet. He placed it on the nightstand with a soft clunk.

Jack’s eyes widened this time witnessing the action in full view. He stared at Hiccup. Then at the leg. Then back again. Mouth ajar. Hair poking from beneath the blanket like a startled snowbird.

“I’ll explain that tomorrow,” Hiccup yawned over a bemused smile.

Jack didn’t last long.

Exhaustion curled around him like Toothless’s tail. The warmth soaked into his bruises. The blanket caught against the curve of his wing just right. And for the first time in what felt like forever.

He slept.

Really slept.

 

It took Hiccup longer.

He rolled toward the wall, heart thudding unreasonably fast. He’d given up his guest room to make more space for the workshop. He couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse right now.

But as silence settled, and Jack didn’t wake, didn’t shift, didn’t shiver, he let the jitters go. Just a little.

Sleep came for him too, at last.

 

Dawn crept across the sky, light beaming into Astrids room. She stirred before the light had fully touched the treetops, anticipation already pulling at her limbs. On any other morning, Stormfly would have announced herself with eager thumps on the roof and a squawk, but today was not any other morning.

Something had shifted. Ever since he arrived.

Dragons had begun to move as one, more tightly knit, responding to the hybrid’s quiet presence with intrigue. Stormfly, though, Stormfly remained watchful. Wary. A survivor’s instinct. Ever since those first tense clashes with Frost, Astrid’s Nadder had refused to cave to the guest.

She slipped into the stables with a low whistle, barely above a breath. Stormfly rustled, quills rising with tension before relaxing at the sight of her rider. She gave a soft rumble as Astrid ran a hand down her snout. “Just us, girl,” she murmured. “Legs stretch those wings.”

Together, they moved toward the exit, but Astrid hesitated. Her gaze swept the far end of the stable. A cluster of baby dragons curled against Hookfang, his broad wing drawn over them like a protective curtain. The dragon’s eyes gleamed above the drape of his leathery limb, unblinking, and alert. No sign of Frost.

Astrid raised a brow. Hookfang, guardian of the nest? That was new. But she didn’t have time to puzzle it out. She saddled Stormfly with practiced care,her thoughts refused to stay still.

Where is he?
He can’t fly, not yet. He’s probably limping along the cliffs. Breathing the morning air. Brooding.
She tugged the strap tight. Not worried. Just observant. That’s all.

They took to the skies in a clean leap, soaring above the island’s spine. Astrid scanned the landscape, her eyes slicing through the early light. The sea shimmered blue and untouched, no freezing patterns. The weather held calm. And Frost, wherever he was, left no trail.

She doubled her flight time. Circled again. And again.
Each empty cove and silent glade sharpened her unease into something heavy in her chest.

Back on the ground, another day began.

 

Hiccup groaned as he stirred, only to jolt upright at the sound of his door flinging open. Toothless raised his head sleepily but didn’t budge, wings still cradling a pale tuft of hair nestled against his chest.

“Astrid—?” Hiccup began, but she was already striding into the hut, eyes wide with alarm.

“Hiccup… Frost’s gone. He’s not anywhere. I’ve checked, everywhere. The cliffs, the bays, even the glade behind the-”

“Shhhh!” Hiccup’s hands flailed midair as he pointed toward the corner.
A quiet bundle stirred beneath Toothless’s obsidian wing. Not gone. Just… Napping.

Astrid’s mouth snapped shut. Her hands went to her lips, then slowly lowered as she mouthed a silent apology. She backed toward the door, and slipped out. Hiccup strapped on his prosthetic with a sigh and followed her, tossing a look at Toothless.

The dragon huffed, lowered his chin back atop the sleeping hybrid, and blinked with something close to a smirk.

Outside, Hiccup and Astrid fell into the old rhythm, preparing for the day’s tasks, divvying up scouting routes, feeding schedules, patrols. Hiccup sent a terrormail to Berk with a brief update: They would remain on the island indefinitely. It was closer to hunter activity. Strategically advantageous to the missions they planned in the great hall anyway.

 

Jack didn’t stir for a long time.

The warmth of Toothless’s body curled protectively around him, the steady thrum of dragon breath, and the first proper food he’d had in days, these simple mercies stitched him back together not just in a physical way. The first day, Toothless refused to leave, providing endless comfort.

When Jack finally woke, late into the afternoon light filtered through the hut’s high windows. A small tray sat beside the cot, crabcakes still warm, their scent sharp with salt and spice. Toothless stretched, muscles rippling beneath scales, and greeted him with a low, affectionate lick to the face.

Jack winced at first, then laughed, he cant believe this is real.

He ate slowly, feeding the dark dragon a stolen bite or two, until the tray was empty. Then, leaning heavily on Toothless’s side, they made their way toward the stables, steps slow and careful. The usual din of village life echoed faintly around them, hammers on metal, shouts, laughter. Dragon edge was alive.

They found Fishlegs first in the clubhouse, bent over a ledger of supplies and ration counts. At the sight of Jack and Toothless, his face lit up.

“Hey! You’re up!” he beamed, gesturing them in with a grin. “Want to help? You could point out the numbers for me with your claws if you want to.”

Jack tried, squinting at the markings, but after a few fumbled gestures and sheepish expressions, he mimed the truth: he couldn’t read.

Fishlegs blinked, then smiled broader. “That’s alright. I’ll teach you. Some runes to start. Easier to keep track of things, and talk, too.”

Jack’s nod was immediate. Eager. Grateful.

Days passed, then a week or two, in a slow, steady rhythm. The island pulsed with renewed energy as systems came back to life. On the second evening, a new stone slab appeared in Hiccup’s hut, an added sleeping space, but Toothless never stopped curling protectively around Jack.

By the end of the first week, Jack walked more confidently. The thunderpedes were nuzzling and snorting as they galloped the shoreline. Though they raced ahead, he followed with steady steps, wind curling around him, hair whipped wild.

It was on one of these beach walks when he spotted familiar wings.

Hookfang and Snotlout returned from sea patrol, the crimson dragon shrieking joy as they landed. Snotlout was mid-speech about some heroic scouting feat when four juvenile dragons, wild and ungoverned, tore across the sands and tackled him mid-sentence.

Hookfang and Jack leapt out of the way, both snorting in surprise. Their eyes met, Jack’s wary, guarded. Hookfang’s bright with curiosity, edging toward guilt.

The dragon stepped forward, crooning, low and soft, and leaned down to inspect Jack’s still-bandaged side. Jack tensed. Flinched.

Immediately, Hookfang withdrew, crestfallen, head bowed so low his snout brushed the sand. He turned away with a soft, miserable huff.

Jack stood frozen for a breath. Then he sighed, shoulders dropping. A hesitant sound escaped him, not quite a word, but something kinder than silence. A mimic of Hookfang’s croon.

The dragon blinked.

Slowly, tentatively, Hookfang turned back. Jack extended his hand, palm brushing lightly over crimson scales. A sign of trust, trust that he wont burn him. The dragon’s pupils dilated wide as tea saucers.

Hookfang surged forward, pressing his snout into Jack’s side with such fervor that the boy nearly toppled, laughter bursting from him. He wasn’t all bad.

And then, like a spark had caught, the fire returned to Hookfang’s eyes.

He roared into the sky, wild with joy, ran down the beach, scooped his protesting rider in his talons, and launched into the air, soaring in loops and shrieks, Snotlout’s distant cries of “PUT ME DOWN!” fading into the horizon.

 

Two more weeks pass in a similar rhythm, the islanders get used to his presence.

Jack mends, slowly. The limp dissapeares. The bandages change from necessity to formality, wrapped more out of habit than need. His wings, though, folded tight against his back, remain still. Still tethered. Still grounded.

They are having dinner at the clubhouse Tuff speaks up, between bites of a suspiciously crunchy snack:
“So, is Frosty gonna keep squatting in Toothless’s bed forever? ‘Cause he’s totally throwing off the hut-to-dragon ratio.”

Hiccup pauses, then nods thoughtfully. “We’ll build him something.”

Fishlegs chimes in immediately. “With a beach-facing entrance, so the Thunderpedes can cool down quickly!”

It starts as a rough sketch on the back of a ration ledger. Then Astrid suggests reinforcing the side wall for insulation. Ruffnut insists there be a roof hatch (“for dramatic rooftop escapes, obviously”), and Snotlout attempts to claim he’ll personally chisel Frost’s name into the stone… as soon as he figures out how to spell it.

Jack, observing the conversation from furthest from the hearth, croons a soft note, deep and rising. Toothless replies. Everyone freezes.

Hiccup blinks. “Wait… did he just…?”

He did. Over the next few days, it becomes unmistakably clear: Jack isn’t just mimicking dragon sounds. He’s communicating with them.

It starts small. A short trill shared with Meatlug earns him a soft nuzzle and a basket of warmed stones to curl against. A low rumble directed at Stormfly gets him a sharp side-eye and a tail flick, but Astrid catches the edge of what sounds like a joke. Even Hookfang, cautiously affectionate these days, answers Jack’s drawn-out clicks with low, amused huffs.

Ruffnut is the first to actually test the theory.

“You can understand them, huh?” she asks, crouched beside Jack while feeding the baby dragons bits of dried fish. Jack shrugs one wing, then lets out a chirping cascade of notes that ends in a sharp snort. Barf and Belch both whip around with identical gasps and immediately slather his face in slobber.

Ruffnut howls. “He just insulted their breath!”

From then on, Jack becomes the unofficial translator between dragons and riders. Hiccup starts consulting him when Toothless warbles something ominous. Fishlegs shares rune books to see if Jack can pair written words to the sounds he shares. Even Astrid, leans over one evening and taps his shoulder, pointing to Stormfly and murmuring, “Can you ask her what she’s avoiding in the cliffs?”

Jack nods.

She doesn’t ask how he knows. She just listens when he shows her the answer with a few drawings and a pointed glance at a rocky outcrop, eel nest. It would all work a lot better if he’d make some progress with the runes. He realized quite early in his lessons that he does not like reading.

 

It’s the end of the second week when twins who discover it: beneath the silent, wide-eyed exterior, Frost is a menace.

They find him curled in the rafters one morning, holding Ruffnut’s boot hostage with a string attached under his wing. Every time she tries to grab it, he shifts a little, making her jump.

Later that day, someone puts a wig on macey. No one confesses, but Jack whistles an awfully smug tune while scrubbing fish scales off his claws.

His pranks are never mean, just clever, precise, and always followed by a chuffing sound that’s dangerously close to laughter.

For all their complaints, the riders lean in. Ruffnut teaches him hand signs for “chaos now” and “retreat.” Tuffnut insists Jack is his new “apprentice of subtle destruction.” Snotlout starts exaggerating stories just to see if Jack will roll his eyes (he always does). Fishlegs makes him a little chalkboard slate to draw on, though Jack prefers miming and expressive dragon squeaks.

 

Construction on the hut end by the week. It rises near the edge of the beach, stones stacked with care, roof beams woven with sea-slick driftwood. One wide arch opens to the sands where the Thunderpedes can wallow in foam and salt, and another faces inward toward the cliff path, linking Jack to both his solitude and his growing circle.

Each rider adds something: Astrid places a small carved compass in the threshold, Fishlegs adds a basket of smoothed learning stones each a rune one side and little doodle representing on the other. The twins fashion a wind chime made entirely of dragon teeth and scrap metal. Snotlout contributes… a firepit, and insists it’s the “coolest thing ever.” Jack is making plans to use it as a water basin for the little ones.

Jack watches them all, eyes wide, gestures minimal, but the soft purr in his chest says everything.

 

The late afternoon sun glinted off the edge of Hiccup’s hut, one if the last evenings before Frost moved to his own. He stepped through the door, back straight, strides careful but no longer strained. His movement had changed, he flowed now, slower, steadier.

Hiccup looked up from a spread of diagrams and motioned him over. “Time to get those out,” he said gently, tapping a shallow bowl of water and a curved pair of tweezers beside it.

Jack nodded and sat down on the edge of the cot, wings furled tightly against his back. The silence wasn’t tense, just full. Familiar.

Hiccup worked quietly, fingers careful. The first few stitches came out easily, tugging softly from the skin just below Jack’s ribs. Jack hissed once but motioned for Hiccup to continue.

“You’ve healed fast,” Hiccup said, voice low. “I mean, not Toothless fast, but…”

A corner of Jack’s mouth twitched.

The thread gave way as Hiccup moved up, following the line across Jack’s side, then gently turning him so he could reach the base of the spine. Jack twiched, not from the pull, but from the touch to the odd spot on his back. Hiccup hesitated.

Then, without a word, he set a steady palm just at the curve where wings met shoulder blades. The gesture wasn’t medical. It was grounding.

“You scared me to death, you know,” Hiccup murmured. “When you broke out of Gothis hut. When you didn’t wake up for days. That was incredibly stupid.”

Jack tilted his head slightly, gaze dropping, but his tail flicked once, soft, almost bashful. When Hiccup withdrew his hand, it lingered a second too long at the base of the wing. Fingers brushed against soft, frost-tinged skin. Both of them went still.

And then Jack carefully turned back around.

Hiccup cleared his throat. “Right. Um. Before you go - wait.”

He stepped to the corner and brought out a box nearly as wide as the desk. He placed it in front of Jack, then opened it with care.

Inside, neatly folded, was a sleek set of armor, not flashy, but forged dragon scales. The inside soft with insulated lining.

“I made it with some of the scales had leftover from Astrid’s armor and Screaming Death plates. Hiccup explained. “It’s insulated. Should help regulate your temperature better, especially for the human half. And—uh—” He reached deeper into the box. “I also put together something simpler. For days we’re not dodging fireballs.”

He handed over a soft, storm-grey shirt and a slate-blue cloak with a clasp in the shape of a snowflake—half wave, half gust.

Jack reached out and gently ran his fingers over the armor’s interior, then the cloak. When he looked up, his eyes were wide in that unreadable way of his. Wings pressed close. Shoulders drawn.

“It’s not finished,” Hiccup added quickly. “I mean, it’s rough. We’ll tailor it, fit it to your wings more. And the sleeves are probably—”

A clawed hand reached out and touched Hiccup’s wrist.

Just a light graze. A thank-you. And maybe something else, too.

 

The next morning, the long table was already buzzing when Fishlegs stood with a clap of his hands. “Before we assign chores. Frost has something he wants to share.”

All eyes turned curious, while frost started to take apart in the morning meetings, he generally sat somewhere in the room and listened. Today was different.
Jack entered slowly draped in a pale cloak. Only indications of his nervousness was the soft trail of mist he dragged after himself. Unknowingly adding to the dramatic effect.
He turned slowly, chalkboard slate held in both hands, and walked to the front of the group. A hush settled.

He set the board on the easel, picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write.

Slowly. Carefully. Glancing at Fishlegs for confirmation. One stroke at a time. Ancient runes, clear and unmistakable:

My name is Jack.

A pause.

Then a second line, smaller:

Thank you.

Toothless let out a proud hum. Stormfly gave a celebratory trill. The twins both made dramatic gasps like someone had proposed marriage. All riders worn proud smiles.

Jack stood straighter. Not braver. Not louder. Just known.

Notes:

Dear readers the URGE to end this chapter where fishlegs dropped the fish was so great. And to just dissapear for a weak. But im not that evil.

(anywho fic is still ongoing but im entering into the phase where i pack up all my stuff in the uk from uni and drive home across Europe so MIGHT, slow dowm on updates. But ill let yall know about it. )

Imma take it a little more easy on our bebe boyo)

Chapter 5: Weather or not, here I come

Summary:

Chapter 5

Weather or not, here I come.

(I just finished driving 27 hours. Just set on my bed, give me a grace period of 48 hours untill I finish my coma thanku. Tuesday the 8th 5pm central europe)

Notes:

Okay this one comes with a lil bit of an instruction.

Pull up the song once upon a december from anastasia. Wherever u can. Have it ready. You'll know when to play it.

Now u can dig in.

Youtube: https://youtu.be/K1GeGG-HHZY
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/15NNe4V26FOiwagrNb4lbS?si=DdvjIqZAQeOhWNQkRnyvwQ

Devastating Winter arrived without any fanfare.

The winds howled, lashing against the spires of Dragon’s Edge. Snow blanketed the outpost in downy white, glazing rooftops in ice, tracing frost on every windowpane. But the Riders? They moved through the storm like it was nothing, shoulders squared, laughter steaming in the frigid air. Battle-hardened and barrel-hearted, they had long since learned to thrive in the cold.

And Jack? Jack was finally one of them, at least in this way.

Gone were the days when icy wind stung his skin. Now, delicate layers of wool and leather, stitched with careful fingers and quiet affection, wrapped around his human half. Hiccup had overdone himself. Jack was still in awe every time he wore them.

His new hut stood nestled at the edge of the cliffs, as much a home as a statement: he was no guest now, he’s here to stay, part of the landscape.

Although he needed to get reacquainted with the loneliness of it. Not that he didn’t absolutely love the place. But he missed to share space with Hiccup and Toothless, the easy rhythm of conversation, the silent glances that said more than words. Now, alone, he found his claws brushing absently at the base of his wings, fingers drifting to that one spot - just along the curve, where Hiccup’s hand had lingered a little too long the last time they were alone.

His hut had two levels. The ground floor made out of thick stone walls and a high, vaulted ceiling, warm with the breath of dragons. The Four juveniles - Burp, whistle, Crackle and Fizz lounged on stone slabs the warmed with their fire. With Jack’s gentle coaxing, they had begun to learn how to regulate their own internal temperatures, cooling their cores before it started to affect their mobility. Strutting out the gate that framed the rear wall, running directly to the beach where they rolled into the sea with excitement.

The second floor was for Jack. The bedroom, built with his proportions in mind, centered around a bed large and thick with wool, fur, and downy pelts. Above it, instead of torches, small glass canisters lined the walls. Hiccup had crafted them himself, covering them with cloth until the right moment. On Jack’s first night there, he’d unveiled them with pride. Blue light spilled across the wall. It looked like starlight submerged in water. Jack had pressed a claw to one. It was cool to the touch.
Wouldn’t burn him.

The final room was more practical: a storage space. Here lay his armored flightsuit, fruits, extra furs, and a dragon-sized table he didn’t think he was gonna use, until recently. With ink-stained talons and a furrowed brow, he’d started tracing runes, eager to understand the words Fishlegs had assigned to him.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the cave, but… it was his. He looked got up and stretched, hopped from one leg to another. Listened out for anyone coming. No one. A smirk settled in his expression.

Suddenly he leapt across the space like a whirlwind bouncing from wall to wall, wings spread wide, laughing like a little boy. He halted started spinning in place, arms out, just to see how long he could orbit the center of the room without tipping over. Eventually he tripped over his tail landing with a thud, but all he could do was cackle.

 

For a time, Dragon’s Edge knew peace.

The sky, while gray with the weight of winter, seemed content merely to hover. Waves offered lullabies instead of roars. And Jack—Jack had begun to revel in the small pleasures of belonging. Every time someone called his name without hesitation, it sparked something warm in his core. Even when a few still called him “Frost” by habit, he didn’t mind. It soft now, like an affectionate nickname, he found himself liking it.

Then the terror-mails came.

Urgent messages arrived on small wings, scrolls tied to scaled legs with braided cords, disrupting the calm with news from Berk. The outpost’s riders, arguably the best in the archipelago, were in high demand, and their fearsome, no-nonsense chief made sure to leverage them well. Jack could always tell when the twins were mimicking the letters, the way Tuffnut would puff out his chest and lower his voice into a gravelly bark while Ruffnut doubled over in laughter.

They were impersonating him. The Chief.

Jack had only met the man once. A brief exchange, really. One look at Jack, at his wings and claws and too-pale stare, and the man’s verdict had been immediate. A beast. Not fit for Berk. Not welcome.

Fine. Jack hadn’t planned to linger anyway.

The messages dictated trade routes and rescue missions, assignments in pairs or trios flying into snarling skies and across the sea. Riders were often gone for days, especially Hiccup. Jack hated those missions. Not because the others weren’t kind, they were. But something in him eased when big hearted viking was near.

It wasn’t until a certain storm swept through the archipelago that Jack began to understand exactly how big that heart was.

A vicious squall had stranded a supply fleet, calling nearly every rider into the skies to lead them home. Only Astrid remained behind, grounded by an injured arm. Jack had wandered to the cliffs, the sea sighing far below him, ice collecting at the edges of his toes.

He heard her before he saw her.

No greeting, no words, just the crackle of leather boots on frost. She settled beside him in silence. They watched together. From that vantage, the saw the beach and the juveniles in full flight, skimming the surf with joyful roars.

Jack watched her watching them.

There was no fear in her gaze. No wariness, no revulsion. Her expression was unguarded - wistful, even. And it stirred something in him. He knelt forward, palms resting lightly on the snow-dusted rock. Frost spread beneath his fingers. He raised his palm, In delicate shivers of ice, he formed a moving picture.

First, war. Vikings clashing with dragons, swords raised, talons flaring. Flames and arrows in chaotic spirals. Then, slowly, a shift. Swords lowered. Dragons pressing into human hands. Astrid petting Stormfly. Snotlout being tackled by Hookfang in mock battle. Meatlug cuddled contentedly with Fishlegs.

He tilted his head and etched the rune for questions, How? Why?

Astrid took her time before she answered.

“Hiccup and Toothless,” she said. “They did something no one else had before, they chose mercy. Friendship.”

She told him the rest. Of the Red Death, brought down not by brute force but by unity. Of a boy and his dragon teaching an entire village, herself included, that peace was a choice, not a myth.

“I grew up thinking dragons were monsters,” she admitted, eyes not leaving the horizon. “Stormfly proved me wrong. Hiccup made sure I listened.”

They set there until it grew dark, ate dinner in the clubhouse in comfortable silence.

 

The riders returned days later, weary but victorious. Wind-beaten cloaks dragged through the snow, laughter riding on the crests of tired voices. Their dragons landed one by one, muscles taut and breath’s heavy.

Jack spotted them from the clearing he was sitting on, whittling a wooden rabbit with his claws as the dragons closed in.

He barely had time to brace before Toothless barreled into him with the force of a cannonball, knocking the wind out of his lungs in a choked huff. They rolled, scales over snow, wings flailing in chaotic joy. Hiccup leapt off mid-tumble, half laughing, half scolding, as the two dragons wrestled without care.

Toothless pinned Jack at the bottom of the slope, purring with dilated pupils and a gummy grin full of retracted teeth, nudging his snout into Jack’s neck. Jack wheezed, then grinned, tail whipping instinctively. With one sharp smack of it, he knocked the night fury off balance and scrambled upright, springing across the snow on all fours.

The wind caught under his wings.

It wasn’t much, just a flutter, a stolen moment of lift - but it was the first since his injury. His talons barely grazed the surface as he glided between hops, a faint shimmer of frost trailing beneath him.

He landed upright near the others, claws biting into the snowy stone. Chest heaving, wings slightly extended, he blinked in astonishment. There was only the faintest pull in his side. No pain.

Silence fell for the length of a breath.

Then -

“I guess that means you’re gonna be flying soon, huh, Jack?” Hiccup’s voice was soft but brimming with pride.

And just like that, the quiet cracked open.

The others swarmed him, faces bright with elation, voices overlapping in a flood of questions and cheers. Fishlegs shouted something about flight path calculations. The twins tried to bet on how high Jack could get before crashing again. Even Astrid smirked and gave him a respectful nod. It was celebration wrapped in chaos, genuine and unfiltered.

But behind it all, Hiccup’s smile began to slip.

He held it in place just long enough for the others not to notice, just long enough to fold his arms and laugh at one of Tuffnut’s ridiculous jokes. Then, when no one was watching, the laughter drained from his face.

Because once Jack could fly again… there would be nothing anchoring him here.

The baby dragons, adorable menaces that they were, had grown more independent under Jack’s care. Hiccup had seen it himself: the way they looked to Jack first now, the way they no longer needed constant surveillance. He’d always known Jack’s side would mend. He just hadn’t expected how much the thought of losing him would feel like something fraying at the edges of his chest.

A shrill whistle broke the moment.

Another terror-mail swooped in, claws outstretched, scroll dangling from its leg. Hiccup sighed and caught it midair, already dreading the ink inside.

His frustration bloomed the moment he read it.

Another mission. Another demand. Another command cloaked as a request, this one ordering the riders to check on the border islands before Snoggletog. Deliver gifts. Return home to Berk for holiday. And - Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, without the creature.

Creature. That was the word.

As if Jack was still something they feared. Something monstrous. Something less.

Hiccup’s jaw clenched. He glanced at Jack, who was grinning as the twins tried to braid ribbon into his short hair. Jack, who had been hurt by more than just injury, who had been hunted, exiled, burned by everything and everyone… and still chose to stay kind.

Still played pranks. Still protected hatchlings that weren’t his. Still smiled like the world hadn’t tried to bury him in ice.

Hiccup crumpled the scroll with a growl and strode toward the forge, knuckles white. If his father thought he could dictate who counted as family from a throne miles away, he clearly didn’t understand what home looked like anymore.

 

The air vibrated with the heat inside.
Molten light danced across the stone walls, flickering against hanging tools and half-sketched schematics. Hiccup stood at the center, sleeves rolled past soot-smeared elbows, as he hammered away at a glowing rod of iron - part of a spare fin-tail mechanism he was crafting for Toothless. Sparks flew like frenzied fireflies, but his mind wasn’t on invention. Truthfully, he didn’t have the patience to start a new project only to watch it fall apart.

A soft knock echoed at the threshold, barely audible over the rhythmic clang. He didn’t glance up. Not until a low huff cut through the hiss of the coals. His gaze flicked toward the entrance.

Jack stood beneath the stone archway, shielding his face from the sweltering heat with his arm. He lingered on the edge, frost-bitten magic visibly wilting in the oppressive warmth. He didn’t cross the threshold.

“Oh—uh, wait—just a second!” Hiccup jolted upright, fumbled toward the bellows lever, and shoved the iron into a water pail with a hiss of steam. The fire hissed and choked out as he doused it, the forge’s roar fading into silence.

Jack stepped in, cautiously, each footfall deliberate. His discomfort clung to him - maybe from heat, maybe from something more subtle, harder to name. He drifted closer to Hiccup, gaze tilted and questioning.

Hiccup exhaled, shoulders sagging like leather left too long in the rain. Without a word, he reached out, catching Jack’s wrist, and tugged him gently away from the forge. Outside, on a battered worktable scattered with parchment, charcoal, leather scraps, and idle crafting tools, the air was mercifully cooler. No fire needed here.

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup said softly, settling into a stool and pulling a stretch of tanned leather toward him. “I didn’t congratulate you properly.”

He didn’t meet Jack’s eyes as he retrieved a pricking iron and began lining holes with mechanical precision. Jack huffed, more breath than sound - and tapped a single clawtip against the table in Hiccup’s line of sight.

Then, reaching for a clean scrap of parchment, Jack took a charcoal nub and swiftly scrawled a few runes.

ᚨᚾᚷᛖᚱ.
Anger.

Hiccup rubbed a hand down his face, smudging ash into the stubble along his jaw. “I’m not,” he murmured.

The flat look Jack gave him could have frozen a lake.

He sighed deeper this time, palm dragging down his features again. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.

But Jack wasn’t looking away. Not now. Another rune appeared on the parchment: ᛘ ᛖ ᛋ ᛋ ᛖ ᛦ.
Message.

“You noticed that, did you?” A weak chuckle slipped from Hiccup as he fished into his vest pocket, pulling free a crumpled scroll. “Berk wants us back,” he said with a grimace. “They keep sending these…”

The parchment crackled as he unfolded it—inked runes sharp despite the folds. An invitation. For them to return for Snoggletog.

“We’ve got one more mission before then.”

Jack’s expression faltered. He stared at the message, claws brushing its edge, his breath shallow with unspoken weight.

Hiccup reached over, his hand resting gently on Jack’s arm. This time, he made sure to meet the hybrid’s gaze.

“We’re not going.”
The words settled into the air heavily.

The unspoken not without you hung heavy in the pause that followed. When Jack made to object, Hiccup raised a hand.

“No, no… we’ve all talked. D—The Chief will decide what he decides. If not, well… we’ve lived here for two years already. What’s stopping us from doing it again?”

Jack didn’t respond, but his crestfallen silence spoke volumes.

Hiccup nudged him on his shoulder, lighter now, coaxing a flicker of warmth. “Instead of moping, why don’t you help me make gifts for the others? I’ll even tell you the ridiculous stories behind Snoggletog.”

Jack looked at him, one brow rising.

“And yes,” Hiccup added dryly, reaching for another parchment, “they do involve Gobber’s attempt at festive baking. But that’s a warning, not a deterrent.”

 

Jack chuckled, things calmed down a bit as Hiccup worked with him in near-silence. A comfortable rhythm had settled between them, Hiccup busy with needle and pricking iron, and Jack lounging nearby, elbows sprawled across the cluttered table. He helped when prompted, steadying leather with a precise clawtip, his frost-cooled presence a strange, soft contrast to the smithy’s residual heat.

Then Jack’s ear twitched.

He lifted his head slightly. A draft had crept through the half-cracked door, winding its way between stacked crates and idle tools. One box gave off a peculiar, melodic pitch - soft, hollow, and strange. Intrigued, he tracked the sound with narrowed eyes.

“You can rifle through them if you like,” Hiccup said, not looking up from his stitching. “There’s a bunch of scrap in there.”

Jack rose and padded over to the crate. Inside were only spare metal tubes—discarded lengths of different widths, dulled with time. He tilted his head, summoned a breath of wind with a lazy flick of his fingers, and blew softly. The sound came again—ethereal, chiming.

He hesitated, then selected a few and brought them back to the table.

“What’ve you got in mind?” Hiccup asked, now curious.

Jack gave no vocal answer. Instead, he gestured once, and the wind rose again, paper flying off the workbench, tools skittering. But the sound that followed was worth every bit of chaos. The tubes began to hum, each one catching the air with a distinct, resonant tone. Together they made a harmony of gentle metallic music, like something sung by the northern winds.

Hiccup’s jaw parted slightly in wonder. Jack’s answering smirk was subtle but proud.

They spent the next hours building it.
A ring of wood became the frame, twine their tether. Six tubes suspended around a central striker, anchored by a windcatcher carved from a thin oak slab. It wasn’t perfect craftsmanship, but it sang. When Jack lifted his hand and the breeze stirred through the room, the windchime came alive, singing in bright, unpredictable tones.

Delight lit on Jack’s face bright, almost blinding. Hiccup, caught off guard by the pure joy blooming across the hybrid’s expression, felt something twist and settle warmly in his chest. He did it, he earned the smile he witnessed weeks ago.

He cleared his throat. “Uh—whenever I’m off on missions… you’re welcome to use this room. Everything in it, really.”

Jack blinked at him.

A pause. A small nod.
A blush bloomed on Hiccup’s cheeks.

 

In the two days before the next departure, Jack was a creature on a mission.
He crafted windchimes with great focus, repurposing every scrap of metal Hiccup allowed him. He was going to make one for each rider by snoggletog. It had nothing to do with watching Hiccup work in rolled-up sleeves, arms slick with soot and sweat. Of course not.

By the time Hiccup hung the 9th (he had to make one for gothi and fishlegs parents) finished windchime from a ceiling beam, Jack’s cheeks bore a faint icy-blue flush, when the viking asked about it he pointedly turned away, ignoring the man.

And then there were the twins.

Late at night, just before departure, a muffled snort echoed in the darkness outside the forge.

“I swear, I heard it! Like… ghost dragons with angel voices!” Ruffnut whispered, one eye peering through the gap in the door.

“You said it was wind ghosts five minutes ago,” Tuffnut replied, adjusting the oversized helmet on his head like it was a disguise.

Inside, the windchimes swayed softly. One had been hung near the door—an unguarded prize.

They crept in. Comically sneaking on their tiptoes. Ruffnut cartwheeled beneath the hanging tools. Tuffnut ninja-rolled unnecessarily across the floor. The moment Jack’s latest creation came into view, they both stopped, eyes wide, mouths agape.

“You steal it,” Ruffnut hissed. “You’ve got quieter fingers!”

“No way, I did the actual sneaking!” Tuffnut shot back. “You’re the distraction.”

They both reached for the windchime at the same time.

Clink.
It let out a sharp, crystalline note. Then another. Suddenly the entire forge was singing in response.

“Grab it, grab it!”

They darted out into the night, windchime swaying wildly in Ruffnut’s arms.

 

Next day it was time for the vikings to leave. One by one, the dragon riders peeled away from the edge, lifting into the skies and vanishing in different directions—each bound for separate locations.

Hiccup was one of the first to go, Toothless slicing through the morning air in silence. Snotlout followed not long after, shouting some half-joke that scattered the seabirds nesting on the cliffs. By midday, the twins had packed themselves and their chaos onto Barf and Belch, and Fishlegs veered off in the opposite direction, arms full of scrolls and baked goods barely balanced.

From the bluff above the cove, Jack watched it all unfold.

A stray breeze whistled past him. Soft, chiming notes followed—the unmistakable sound of one of his windchimes singing from somewhere on Barf and Belch’s saddle rig. He smiled at the sound, head bowing slightly. No surprise the twins had made off with one. He didn’t mind.

But then the wind fell quiet again, and with it came a low ache—something colder than his usual chill. The island felt hollow again, emptied out like a seashell. Too many rooms echoing with absence.

He found his way to his hut, wordlessly refilling the troughs with glistening trout. The babies would be hungry soon.

When he finally approached the stables, Astrid was securing the last saddlebag onto Stormfly, her brow furrowed in practiced focus. She didn’t glance up at his footsteps, but her voice carried.

“So how’s your side?” she asked casually, tightening the strap. “Reckon you’ll fly soon?”

Jack blinked. His side still ached -a stiff, quiet throb beneath the skin - but it was no longer the searing pain that had kept him grounded for weeks. He’d been gliding more confidently down the cliffs, sweeping low over the shoreline, testing his strength with every windlift.

He stepped back, flared his wings, and gave them a tentative flap.

The wind caught.

He lifted off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air, his posture taut with surprise. It pulled, but wasn’t a stabbing pain. The ache flared, then faded.

Astrid turned at the sound, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Thought so,” she murmured, eyes bright with something unspoken. “So? You want to come with me?”

Stormfly snorted loudly as if to protest, tail ruffled with disdain, but Astrid gave the dragon a pat on the side. “Don’t mind her. She’s just dramatic.”

Jack landed in a stumble, blinking in disbelief. He tilted his head sharply, wings fluttering, eyes wide with a shimmer of Are you serious?

Astrid laughed. “We’re just delivering Snoggletog gifts to the village leaders,” she said with a shrug. “Bogus mission, honestly. Just a two-hour flight each way. We’ll be back by tomorrow, tops. Think you can handle that?”

Jack didn’t answer—he whooped instead, spinning in a small circle of pure elation before quickly freezing and darting off with a claw held up in a panicked Wait! gesture.

A few heartbeats later, he reappeared, cradling one of his windchimes to his chest like it was made of glass.

Astrid raised a brow, amused. “That’s what you and Hiccup were holed up in the forge for?” Her voice softened. “You bringing it as a gift?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, wings twitching. He could always make more.

 

They launched from the cliffside together, the wind biting and wild.
Stormfly soared ahead, Astrid’s blond braid whipping behind her. Jack followed close behind at first, cautious of his wing’s stretch and the lingering pull of healing scar tissue.

But then the clouds parted.

And Jack Frost tasted flight again.

He let out a wordless cry, half laughter, half wind. He spiraled upward, dipped low to the sea’s surface, then dove headlong through a curtain of snow-heavy mist. The cold in his bones thrilled at the chill. He was home again in the air.

Astrid kept a careful eye, lips curved in a proud smirk. Stormfly attempted her own acrobatics to outshine him, looping and rolling, but Jack, mindful of his side, only flashed a cheeky grin and twirled lazily through a fogbank.

He didn’t need to win. He just needed to fly.

They landed just as the sun got low to the horizon .

The beach below the distant docks glowed with coppery light, the tide drawing soft music from a scatter of shells. Astrid touched down first, Stormfly kicking up sand. Jack moments later in a slower descent, windchime still tucked carefully beneath his arm.

The mission didn’t matter. The gifts didn’t matter.

This, feeling the wind cradle him again, sharing sky and the comfort of Astrid’s trust, that mattered more.

 

The docks were still that cold.
Old ships tugged against their moorings, hulls groaning as the tide rolled in. The sky overhead was clear and peaceful. Jack stepped forward, hands loose at his sides, claws digging lightly into the wooden boards.

He didn’t expect the flowers.

Dozens of them, some fresh, some wilted laid out like offerings at the edge of the water. Sprigs of evergreen, sprouting bright against the beams. Dried winter roses. A scattering of feather

A memorial.

Something in his chest twisted.

He looked out over the water, heart already stuttering, and for a breathless moment the horizon split in two, part calm, part storm. His vision blurred, flickering between the present and something buried deep beneath time. Clear skies. A blizzard. Solid ice cracking like a scream.

His breath hitched. He blinked, and realized the entire shoreline had frozen. Vision brought to the present. The tide stalled mid-motion, caught in glassy stillness.

“Jack - JACK!”

Astrid’s voice sliced through the air like an arrow. She grabbed his arm, her grip grounding him.

He turned to her - slowly, rooted in place. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. His eyes were wide, unfocused, cold.

Astrid’s expression folded into concern. She hesitated, lips parting as if to speak, then pressed them together. “Jack…” Her voice was low, careful. “I think maybe… maybe it’s better you stay here.”

The blow landed silently.

Jack flinched like she’d struck him. A small sharp recoil. Something in him dimming. Hollowing.

He nodded once.

Then, without a word, he reached out and handed her the windchime. She took it, startled by the icy burn it left against her palm.

He was already walking by the time she could respond, legs tapping gently over the spreading frost. The snow began to fall in soft spirals, flakes catching in his hair as he moved onto the ice.

She watched him go. Wanted to call out. Thought better of it.

Stormfly huffed beside her, uneasy.

Without another word, Astrid turned toward the trees and disappeared into the now frost-veiled forest, leaving Jack alone with the sound of the sea growing quiet beneath its glaze.

The world narrowed to gray.
Each step Jack took darkened the sky by degrees. The ice beneath him shimmered and thickened. Cracks ghosted under the surface, echoes, not danger. Not this time.

Frost spread like veins under his feet. The wind stilled. The clouds crouched low.

He couldn’t breathe.

His chest moved, but the air didn’t come. Not really. It scraped. It burned. He collapsed to his knees on the ice, arms locked around himself like a cage. Breath ragged. Shoulders trembling.

He was the eye of the storm.

Everything around him roared and tore and froze, and yet inside he sat, silent. Still. Drowning in his own calm.

He closed his eyes.

Time blurred. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Night must have come, the sky was black glass now, dotted with stars that felt too far away. The wind whispered around him, soft as a lullaby.

The ice began to sing.

Soft, high notes, long and bending like sorrow drifting through a hollow chamber. It pulsed through the frozen lake like something was waking up.

Jack hummed with it, barely audible. A tune lost to time. Cold. Haunting. Familiar.

A sound from long ago.

 

As soon as Mary saw the snow storm bloom over the sea, she knew.
The wind had changed its tune low and singing. Clouds spiraled like pale ribbons across the horizon, the same shade of steel gray that haunted her every winter. She didn’t wait for the envoy. Let Mother handle formalities. Her feet were already moving.

She pulled on her thickest cloak with trembling fingers and raced down the snowy path toward the docks. Past the memorial candles, past the frozen bouquets, gifts whispered to the waves by people who couldn’t forget. She didn’t look at her brothers name carved into the wood. She didn’t look down. She couldn’t.

The sea was frozen. Just like it had been that day.

A glistening plain of ice stretched into the horizon, moonlight threading over it like spun glass. Wind tugged at her braid. A single windchime, hung from a weather-worn torch post, trembled in the cold and answered the sky with its eerie song.

Her boots thudded to a halt.

There was no reason for her heart to be racing, no reason, and yet -
She lowered herself onto the ice. The cold seeped through her clothes, but she barely noticed. Something in the storm was beckoning.

And then, shapes.
Bears made of snow—dancing in the distance, their paws moving with uncanny grace across the frozen world. She exhaled, white mist curling from her lips.

And she began to sing.

“Dancing bears, painted wings
Things I almost remember”

Softly, her voice drifted over the ice. Words passed down from her family, barely remembered, half-forgotten. verses her mother once sang when ships set sail. A promise of return.

“And a song someone sings
Once upon a December”

Her steps were slow, careful, but steady. The ice didn’t tremble. She moved deeper into the storm, carried by the melody.

“Someone holds me safe and warm”

The wind stole most of her voice, but still she sang, even as snowflakes lashed at her cheeks, even as her cloak snapped behind her. The storm blurred everything, but not what she thought she saw.

“Horses prance through a silver storm”

Silhouettes danced on the air.
Horses galloping through a silver gale, made from swirling ice and air. She passed through them, unafraid, brushing fingertips through their glittering mane. Snow flurried past her hand like laughter.

And ahead, a figure.
Paler than ice. Thinner than fog.
Reflecting the moonlight like frost-laced glass.

“Figures dancing gracefully”

She shielded her eyes, stepping closer.
She sang louder.
If she could just reach him.

“Across my memory”

For a fraction of a heartbeat, the storm gentled. The figure turned.

Eyes wide. Recognition flashing like lightning.
Familiar. Impossible.
Jack.

But before she could blink, before she could breathe, the wind roared to life with incredible force.
The quiet flurry became a tempest, snow rising like curtains around her, a wall of freezing white so thick it should’ve driven her back.

And yet, where she stood - calm. Still air around her.
The storm stayed still in protective circle.

“Someone holds me safe and warm”

She stepped forward.

“Horses prance through a silver storm”

Through an opening in the fog wall came crystal horses, galloping across the wind, hooves silent, manes swirling like trailing stars.

“Figures dancing gracefully”

She didn’t flinch. Not even when ghosts began to dance, human forms made of snow and drift, circling her. One bore his grin, the one she’d seen a thousand times in dreams.

“Across my memory”

One extended a hand. She reached for it. It passed through her.
She spun with it anyway, tears blurring the swirling magic around her.

“Far away”

Figures swept by, singing fragments. Her own voice joined theirs.
Faintly. Fully. Unafraid.

“Long ago”

She turned toward the storm again.

“Glowing dim as an ember”

And now - it had a pulse.
Something just beyond the veil of swirling snow.

“Things my heart, used to know”

Her steps matched the rhythm of the song, legs moving on their own. Spinning. Swirling. Drawing her closer, until she stood, barely a breath from the wall of silver.

“ Things it yearns to remember”

A hand softly raised against the barrier of winter. Tracing it gently. Hopeful.

“And a song someone sings”

She waits for a sign, for a touch, a response? She doesn’t know.

“Once upon a December”

The last note escaped her lips. She lowers her hand back down to her side.

And it feels like the world held its breath.

Every snowflake froze midair.
The chime behind her rang once, low and echoing.
Just as she looked back - A rush of wind. Soft but sharp. Like breath returning to lungs.
The storm dissolved.

The wall dissolved, leaving only a layer of delicate snow behind. And far above the horizon, silhouetted against the winter moon.

A dragon soared.
Pearl-pale and glimmering. Wings stretched wide. The wind beneath it sang a familiar tune.

Mary stared.
She did not move.

Not even when the lights of Burgess appeared with the clearing skies.
Not even when the windchime fell silent.

Her heart beat painfully loud in her chest.

Something old gripped her.

And for the first time in fifteen years, she felt her brother.
After what feels like forever, she walks back home slowly, heart filled with magic.

Notes:

Did it take me into the fifth chapter to learn to use bold letters? They are s pain in the ass to put on in ao3.

Apologies for the short chapter I am sitting in a pile of boxes, packing up 4 years of my life in a car and moving home.

WHICH MEANS. I WILL BE GONE FOR ABOUT A WEEK. NOT DEAD, FIC NOT ABANDONED JUST DRIVING.

Will give a tiny update on the top notes on this chapter that sais “IM HOME” That means i have arrived and back on working the next chapter.

Pls enjoy see u guys in a week.

(ps i almost named this chapter ICE, ICE, MARY.)

Chapter 6: Between Snoggletog and a hard place

Summary:

Chapter 6

Between Snoggletog and a hard place.

Suitcases? Unpacked.
Chapter? Finished.
Hotel? Trivago.

Notes:

We have our first fanart! Thank you so much KanjiHaritama for making it!!!

The storm had settled its teeth into Burgess by nightfall, smothering rooftops in thick folds of snow. Astrid had hoped bringing Jack would lift his spirits. But now, with the wind clawing at the hall’s windows and Jack nowhere to be seen, she was begging to regret her decision.

Still, she had obligations. The town elders of Burgess, cloaked in fur and felt, had gathered around the hearth. Their alliance was too valuable to fray, Burgess was the largest trading hub northeast of the archipelago, and its people had played a quiet but critical role in crippling hunter movements in the region. Astrid’s duty was to foster that bond.

Monstrous Nightmare oil and Deathsong amber gleamed on the long table, gifts for Snoggletog, tokens of trust. Plans for the coming winter unfolded like a map between them. Rumors spoke of dragon hunting fleets driven north, diverted after a failed campaign. Burgess, hemmed by cliffs and ice, was safe for now. Three Terrible Terrors had been set to send word in case of emergency. In the event of a quiet winter they would meet again come Spring.

As the evening mellowed into shared mead and low conversation, Astrid stood at the frost-rimmed window, brow furrowed in thought. Somewhere beyond the storm’s white curtain, Jack was alone.

A rustle beside her drew her gaze. Elin Overland, leader of the traders, joined her, eyes fixed on the same snow-blurred horizon.
“It is a true blessing,” Elin murmured, “to have dragon riders as allies. Winter has taken too much from our people already.”
The grief in her voice was quiet, but raw.

Astrid opened her mouth to answer, but the hall doors burst open with a gust of cold air.

A young woman stood framed in the entrance, her hair tousled by the storm, her expression distant. She walked forward with the calm of someone moving through a dream.
“Mary,” Elin said, her voice warming. “Astrid, this is my daughter.”

Mary nodded politely but did not linger. She turned to her mother, her eyes glassy and wide.
“Mom,” she whispered. “The shores are frozen.”

Elin tensed. “Thank the gods the trade ships are docked.”

Mary pulled her close. “I saw his spirit. He was dancing on the ice. I swear it.”

(By our own KanjiHaritama on Ao3 Snowstormarts on tumblr )

Elin stilled, then folded her daughter into a trembling embrace. “ I believe you. If Skadi took her, perhaps she let him stay.”

Astrid stepped away to give them space. Later, her hosts showed her to a small guest room, and she sent Stormfly into the storm in search of Jack. The Nadder returned two hours later, without him. Astrid was too exhausted to try again.

The dawn was blinding as Astrid stepped out into the snow. It cloaked the town in glittering silence, white rooftops reflecting the rays everywhere. Astrid was up before most, tightening Stormfly’s saddle straps, preparing to leave.

In the courtyard, Mary stood alone, shaping snow into miniature figures. Her cheeks were flushed with health, her eyes clear. When she saw Astrid, she waved and approached, cautious of the Nadder a little.

“Leaving already?” she asked, her smile warm with something hauntingly familiar.

Astrid returned it. “Yeah, I arrived with a friend. Got to track him down before we head home.” She scratched Stormfly’s snout. “He’s not great with people.”

Mary nodded, watching as Astrid mounted. From the saddle, Astrid glanced down. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

She pulled her hood up and took to the skies.

Above the treetops, the sunlight stung her eyes. She cupped her hands to her mouth.

“JACK—JAAAAACK! GET YOUR SCALY ASS OVER HERE!”

Stormfly shrieked her own summons, echoing over the snowy canopy.

Moments later, trees burst apart in a shower of powder as a dragon hybrid erupted from the forest below. Pale blue scales glinted in the sun. Jack flapped beside her, his gaze sheepish.

“Feeling better?” she called over the wind.

A small nod.

“Good. Let’s head home, we’ve got a head start on the others.”

Together, they soared toward Dragon’s Edge.

 

Down below, Mary shielded her eyes and watched the rider lift into the sky. The dragon fascinated her such magnificent creatures. She turned to go, but the wind carried words down from above.

“Jack—JAAAAACK! GET YOUR SCALY ASS OVER HERE!”

Her breath caught.

It couldn’t be.

A white-blue dragon soared overhead - too high to see clearly, but shimmering like the spirit she’d seen gliding over the ice.

The name echoed again. Jack.

“Wait—WAIT!” she cried out, stumbling forward, eyes locked on the sky.

But the figures were already fading into the bright morning, no more than glints in the distance.

 

Jack and Astrid had quietly agreed not to mention their recent detour to Burgess. Accidentally unleashing a blizzard on one of their own allies wasn’t exactly the kind of move that earned Jack permission for future missions.

With the riders returning one by one Dragon’s Edge grew loud again as Snoggletog grew close.

Jack perched high on a beam of the clubhouse, wings folded comfortably as he burbled to himself, a soft, content sound. Below, the twins were attempting to hang a firewood wreath using methods that could only be described as accident-adjacent.

“Tuffnut, I swear, if you hammer one more nail into your own boot I’m leaving it as an ornament,” Ruffnut barked, balancing precariously on a ladder that was already missing a rung.

Jack trilled, amused, and reached down with one clawed hand to lift Tuffnut by the back of the shirt. Tuffnut dangled with delighted shrieking. “YEAH! HOIST ME, O YOU CHILLY CRANE!”

It had been months now, months of noise and chaos, of warm meals and ridiculous plans and Snotlout challenging him to “wrestle” twice a week. Jack was… happy. Tangled in a place that didn’t recoil from him. His tail curled fondly around a beam as Tuffnut hammered the shield into place with three loud bangs, two dropped nails, and one shouted “VALHALLAAAA!”

Down below, two shields were falling toward Ruffnut. Jack swiped them off course with his wing, but the nails clattered againts Ruff’s helmet and a shield clipped her in the knee. She just sighed wistfully.

 

“I used to be a lone wolf. A rogue spirit. A hurricane in braids. But now? Now I have a frost guardian who wing slaps my concussions away. I feel soft. I feel fragile. Like an emotionally volatile cupcake.”

Jack glided down in a swoop of pale wings and cooed lowly, crouching beside her and nudging her knee to check for damage.

She patted his head fondly. “Don’t worry, sweetcakes. Knee’s fine, Skull’s still intact. Brain’s optional anyway.”

 

Earlier in the season, months ago, when his feet first touched the ground of Dragon’s Edge -Jack had barely made a sound. His throat had only known warning growls, his voice a patchwork of hissing confusion. The touch of someone’s hand would make him recoil, a terrified shriek ripping from his chest, wings clutched tight like armor.

Astrid was the first to understand. She didn’t try to make him speak; she just listened. When he limped, she kept pace. When he trembled, she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and quietly assured him that he’s safe.

The twins were not subtle. They hugged him loudly and often. Ruffnut once flung herself onto his back yelling “SURRENDER YOUR TOENAILS” and Jack, startled and still half-feral - nearly launched her off the cliff.

“Tuffnut,” Ruffnut had whispered splayed out on the grass. “I think just saw my great grandmother.”

Jack had burbled in confusion.

Fishlegs offered snacks and slow, steady company. The first time Jack curled a wing around him during a nap, Fishlegs froze solid and didn’t breathe for five entire minutes. When Jack let out a sleepy croon and nuzzled closer, Fishlegs mouthed to the room, “He. Is. Snuggling. Me..”

Even Snotlout, blustering and loud, had fallen to the charm. “Fine, Frosty,” he’d muttered the day he gave Jack a fist bump. “You’re weird. You hiss. But you hiss like… a cool guy.”

Jack had made a smug sound and knocked him sideways with one wing.

 

Now, the clubhouse was filled with laughter, pine smoke, and the gentle sounds of Jack after he finished adding icicles to the ceiling. He was resting against Fishlegs as the boy read aloud, tail wrapped casually around Ruffnut’s boots while she decorated a sheep that definitely didn’t consent.

Snotlout stomped in. “Alright, Jack. Tomorrow: snow duel. You. Me. Winner gets all the mead.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. His response was slow, deliberate:

“Y-you… rrr-on.”

A breath of silence stole through the room.

Fishlegs blinked, wide-eyed, book forgotten. Snotlout’s expression froze, jaw ajar. Jack merely purred a low, smug note, and flicked his wing in Snotlout’s direction. The Viking yelped as he tumbled backward into a pile of firewood.

Ruffnut tossed a pine cone onto him. “HAH Jack speaks more eloquently than Snotlout.”

 

Jack snorted softly, unbothered, returning his gaze to the book Fishlegs had been reading aloud. He leaned in close, peering over Fishlegs’s shoulder with the curiosity of someone who never owned a book.

Across the room, Hiccup sat straighter.

Rare was the moment Jack spoke aloud, even fragmentedly. “No” had come first, simple, clean, mainly a vowel. But this, this was deliberate. Shaky, yes, but shaped with intent. Hiccup watched as Jack frowned ever so slightly, testing the edges of his mouth.

His tongue flicked against his teeth, repeating the consonants in silence. When the others resumed their merriment, only Hiccup noticed the hybrid still chewing lightly at his lower lip.

That frown wasn’t from frustration. It was focus. Calculation. Jack was studying speech not because he lacked the ability, but because it required a discipline in order to not bite himself.

Fascinated, Hiccup found himself staring, more at the motion of Jack’s lips than he’d care to admit.

Astrid nudged him sharply in the ribs.

“You jealous of Fishlegs?” she murmured, brows raised as Jack leaned closer to the book Fishlegs held, their shoulders now pressed together.

Hiccup blinked. “Jealous? Me? Of course not,” he said, voice cracking slightly with the sincerity of Gruffnut (the twins cousin).

He was not jealous.

Definitely not.

Once, he’d entertained the possibility that Jack’s frequent glances, the way he lingered near him, might have meant something more. A curiosity. A connection. But now.. now that Jack got comfortable Hiccup saw the truth.

Jack was just affectionate.

Touch was a whole new world for him. It made sense, considering the isolation he had survived, hunted by dragons and men alike. He’s been touch starved for far too long. No wonder he was relishing in it now.

And Hiccup… Well, he was often busy. Distant. Covered in soot and always near open flame, perhaps not the best match for someone with the resting temperature of an icicle.

Not that Hiccup wished Jack would lean on him.

Definitely not.

It wasn’t like he imagined the cool of Jack’s scales.

Or the weight of him, quiet and humming, leaning against his side.

Certainly not.

He watched as Jack chirped in amusement at something Fishlegs said, brushing against him once more, his tail resting gently atop Ruff’s boot like a silver coil.

Astrid smirked. “You make that face again and I’m telling everyone you filled a sketchbook with him.”

Hiccup groaned and covered his face.

 

The next day snoggletog had officially arrived in full force, cloaking the entire Edge in the smoke of fresh baked goods and anticipation. For Jack it was his first holiday among vikings.

The riders had sworn to each other: this Snoggletog would be unforgettable. They intended to keep that promise with utter conviction and questionable tactics.

It began with thunderpedes.

Tiny bells were tied around the ankles of the four juveniles, their jingling a merry cacophony as the creatures were set loose into Jack’s room. He awoke to the air being nocked out of him, whirling tails, too many legs to count, and chaos incarnate chirping merrily. His only response was a baffled coo, followed by an amused trill as a thunderpede parked itself atop his wings.

Next came the Snow Dragon Competition.

Each rider carved a frosty monument in the likeness of their bonded dragon. Fishlegs sculpted Meatlug with painstaking detail, Hiccup formed a respectable Toothless with impressive tailwork, and Jack, with clawed precision and reverent artistry, shaped Huffjaw, the only mother he knew.

The hybrid won decisively.

Second place went to Fishlegs, third to Hiccup. Tuffnut claimed fourth with a sculpture so chaotic it was disqualified for attempting to breathe fire. “It was abstract,” he argued. “You people just don’t understand me.”

Then came the duel.

Snotlout, having issued his challenge the day prior, declared the snowball war with theatrical ferocity. The battlefield was set, snow mostly compacted from earlier festivities. Jack, noticing the dwindling terrain, summoned more. Frost billowed outward from the clouds, painting the air with glimmering flakes.

Snotlout blinked. Confidence cracked.

Then came battle. From afar, it was clear Jack was restraining himself, hopping nimbly across the field, winging snowballs with playful arcs, letting Snotlout land a few hits. These mercies fueled the Viking’s ego, until finally he gave a wild yell and charged the hybrid.

Jack didn’t expect the tackle.

They tumbled, limbs flailing and snow spraying like puffball mushrooms. Snotlout emerged first, arms raised triumphantly, until Jack’s tail swept his feet out, and his wings scooped over a mound of snow, collapsing over him in an a small controlled avalanche.

The verdict was unanimous: Jack was the victor.

They retreated indoors, faces flushed, limbs sore, and laughter blooming in the clubhouse. The riders gathered around the table, barrels of mead lined up, fire dancing in the center.

Jack sat slightly apart from the blaze, eyes flickering with curiosity and caution. His head tilted at the collective stare aimed in his direction, he tilted his head in a clear question. What?

Snotlout, nursing his pride, gestured grandly. “You won, Frostboy. You get first taste.”

The twins were already tapping the barrel. Tuffnut caught the flowing liquid like it was a holy relic, cradling the tankard as if it held the soul of Snoggletog itself.

Jack approached the drink as one might approach a sleeping beast. He sniffed it suspiciously, his nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar scent. Snotlout caught the expression.

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never had mead?”

Deadpan stares surrounded him.

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Do enlighten us, Snotlout. When exactly do you think Jack’s been sipping mead, you muttonhead?”

The room chuckled. Jack glanced at the tankard, uncertain. As a demonstration, he lifted a waterskin, tipping it back. The liquid froze instantly. Solid, slick, fused to his lips.

With careful claws, he scraped it free.

Hiccup leaned forward. “I don’t think you’ll have that problem with this one.”

Jack furrowed his brow, lifted the tankard again, and dipped a claw into the amber liquid. It remained fluid. Unfrozen. Strange.

He glanced around. The eyes of his strange, chaotic family waited. Ruffnut mimicked a hearty gulp and raised her eyebrows.

So he tried.

Tentatively, he brought the tankard to his lips and took a generous swallow. The sensation was… odd. Not icy, not inert. It held heat. Sharpness. A burn.

His eyes widened. He spat it out instantly, coughing, startled sounds escaping as he wiped his lips.

The room erupted in laughter.

“Jack,” Astrid soothed between chuckles, “That’s called ‘warming your insides.’ Most people don’t do it like that.”

Jack blinked at the tankard as though betrayed.

Snotlout grinned, already pouring a second round. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it, Frosty. Just promise not to freeze the sea when u get drunk.”

Jack made a rumbling purr in reply.

 

The remainder of the evening simmered with warmth and soft chatter. Stories of their respective missions mixed with the gentle clinking of mugs and the scent of fresh pastry still lingering in the air.

Snotlout, boasting as always, passed around his hard-earned mead, claiming it “wasn’t the strongest batch, but enough to make a viking blush.” Fishlegs had spent the early hours of dawn frying up his mother’s famous crabcakes along with Astrid, the two were serving them with a proud grin. Kicking the gift exchange into high gear.

Hiccup stood and called for everyone’s attention, lifting a satchel beside him. One by one, he passed out custom leather weapon straps, each tailored with the rider’s dragon etched into it: a stormy silhouette for Stormfly, a proud snarl for Hookfang, a dopey smile for Meatlug.

And then… he hesitated. Shuffled awkwardly. Picked up something wrapped in thick cloth and carried it over to Jack.

“This one’s yours,” he said, quiet and lopsidedly fond.

Jack blinked at him, claws barely curling around the bundle.

Hiccup laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Save the awe-struck face for after you open it. Go on.”

He unfurled the cloth gingerly. Nestled inside was a helmet, shaped like a dragon’s head, sleek, white-blue scales, with the open jaw doubling as both visor and channel. Jack couldn’t fathom how something like this comes out fi a forge.

Jack ran his claws over it, reverent, eyes wide.

Hiccup was already backpedaling. “You don’t have to wear it! It’s just, if you ever wanna join us on missions. Thought some extra protection might help. And, from a distance, you’d blend in with us. Full dragon. Less likely anyone’d aim for your—uh—softer bits.”

There was a breathless pause.

Jack didn’t speak. Not right away. He just… looked. At the gift. At Hiccup.

Then, suddenly, he stepped forward and wrapped Hiccup in a fierce, unexpected hug, arms strong and trembling. Hiccup made a startled sound, went stiff, then melted into the embrace.

Close to his ear, Jack rasped softly:
“Tha—nk… you.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything at first, his voice had fled somewhere between his heartbeat and the hem of Jack’s cloak. But he hugged back, just as hard.

From across the room, Snotlout’s groan cut through the moment: “Ugh, get a room, you two.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Jack pulled away, flushed but smiling, bright and exasperated. His eyes then went wide, as if remembering something urgent.

With a quick breath, he scampered to his own box. Out came windchimes, delicate, strange things of carved wood, and metal tubes, all bound with threads of leather twines. One by one, he handed them out, his claws careful not to clink too early.

When the last chime was placed in Hiccup’s hand, Jack turned his palm upward and summoned a breeze.

It twirled through the room like a curious ghost, weaving between dragon wings and the hearth. The chimes stirred, then sang.

High, soft, otherworldly.

The riders fell silent.

Even Toothless stilled, his ear-fins twitching to catch the notes. Astrid’s eyebrows rose as she glanced at hers, then at Jack. Fishlegs pressed a hand to his chest with a quiet, reverent “…Wow.” Snotlout looked baffled. “Okay but, how do I drink out of this?” he muttered, holding his upside-down.

Then the twins broke the spell.

Ruffnut cleared her throat. “Sooo. Speaking of windchimes…”

Tuffnut picked up where she left off. “We might’ve accidentally kinda sorta stolen one from you amd took it on our trade run.”

“And sold it.”

“You’ve got twelve orders.”

“To very enthusiastic villagers who think you’re a wind-spirit craftsman now.”

Jack tilted his head. Blinked.

Ruffnut tossed a coin pouch to the floor with a cheerful grin. “Congrats, Frosty. You’re in business. We take 10% for delivery and consultation fee.”

“And moral support,” Tuff added.

“And naming rights! I vote Chime and Punishment.”

Jack stared at them. Then let out a low, amused huff. He clutched the helmet a bit tighter to his chest.

 

The night devolved with the steady flow of mead.

Jack, unfamiliar with drinking and unsure how to handle liquid over snow, sipped slowly. The cold flush that colored his cheeks turned a deeper blue with each cautious taste. He barely noticed the warmth curling in his belly or the way his limbs were growing loose and unsteady. Mostly, he just watched, fondly, silently at the way the room buzzed and glowed.

The twins were the first to break into song, if it could be called that, more like shouting in tune. They’d discovered that the windchimes, when rattled with enough enthusiasm, made a surprisingly good melody. With toothy grins they turned their gifts into instruments, riling up the room into a jubilant stomp-stomp-clap rhythm.

Fishlegs, red-faced and radiant, grabbed Astrid and spun her until her braids blurred and her laughter echoed. Hookfang, from the corner, gave what could only be described as a long-suffering grunt before padding toward the door, unimpressed.

Jack, meanwhile, sat stock-still, spellbound by the sight of dancing.

He’d never seen it before, other then the girl on the ice. The lightness of limbs. The graceless joy of it. His pupils glimmered with wonder, tail gently curling around a support beam.

Hiccup noticed.

Flushed and swaying slightly, he stood, extended a hand, and said with a slur of bravado, “Dance with me.”

There was no hesitation. None of Jack’s usual wide-eyed, confused glances.

Just Jack, launching into his arms with all the delicacy of a flying snowball. Hiccup stumbled but caught him, laughing.

The dance was more hops and bumps than grace, but neither of them cared. The others joined in soon after, crowded, clumsy, limbs everywhere. Someone started drumming a mead barrel. Toothless thudded his tail along the wall like a drumbeat before slinking out with Stormfly and the others, deciding their humans had officially gone feral.

Jack and Hiccup, knocked together in the chaos, spun around their faces pressed close. So close. Jack crouched low, eyes half-lidded, his breath icy against Hiccup’s freckled cheek. Their foreheads tilted together in time with the music, Hiccup’s lips parting like he wanted to say something-

CRASH.

The twins barreled into them. Heads collided. There was a wince, a yelp, and a wheeze of laughter.

“Oops!” Ruffnut called. “Was aiming for Snotlout.”

“Missed. Hit romance instead,” Tuffnut added. “Tragic.”

While Hiccup clutched his forehead and muttered something about Viking insurance policies, Jack reached out without thinking. His cool, scaled palm brushed Hiccup’s hand aside and replaced it. The contact was gentle, reverent. Hiccup sighed at the relief, eyes fluttering shut, leaning into the touch.

 

Eventually, the revelers spilled outside into the snow.

Some for air. Some… for other reasons.

Jack just smiled. His tail flicked lazily. Everything was happening around them: Snotlout retching into a bush, Astrid giving Fishlegs a noogie, Ruffnut attempting to sled down a snowbank on a meat tray. but Jack didn’t notice. He was smiling at Hiccup with wide pupils.

Snotlout shouted something about “by seafood meant to be raw” before vanishing further behind a drift. Fishlegs moaned softly about dishonoring his mother’s crab legacy. Astrid patted his back like a seasoned war medic.

The cold hit Hiccup, sobering him a bit. He exhaled, steadying himself.

He turned to comment on Fishlegs’ culinary downfall, but the words caught in his throat.

Jack stood under the stars, moonlight silvering every inch of him. The wind tousled his pale hair and stirred the edge of his cloak. His ears, pointed and finned, twitched gently. He looked like something ancient. Something sacred.

Hiccup nearly forgot how breathing worked.

“…Time to head home?” he offered softly.

Jack turned slowly, smile flickering to life. He nodded.

Then lifted his foot in a dramatic, high-stepping march, misjudged spectacularly and face-planted into the snow with a squawk.

There was a glorious crunch. Wings flared. Elbows stuck out like Tuff’s chicken.

And then… stillness.

A soft exhale. A happy sigh. He melted into the snowbank like a dragon-shaped pudding.

Hiccup bit down a laugh, immediately failing. “Jack-Jack, no. You can’t sleep here.”

He crouched beside the hybrid, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jack didn’t move. But when Hiccup drawled out, “Jaaaack…,” the tail swished.

“Ah-hah. I knew you could hear me.”

He reached to brush frost from Jack’s hair… and stilled. The strands were downy soft, like silk. His fingers drifted lower, stroking his hair slowly, reaching his neck tracing the gradient between skin and scale, dragon and boy, wonder and mystery.

Gently, he bent closer, voice a whisper.

“Come on, Jack. I’ll walk you back.”

Jack groaned like a petulant hatchling but began to emerge. Snow clung to his form, and his nose was frosted over, he looked absolutely ridiculous.

He stuck out his tongue at Hiccup.

Hiccup being a respected adult stuck his right back.

 

He was mid-laugh when he saw Jack stumbled again, the hybrid faltering like a newborn foal. He hastened forward, worry replacing amusement, and caught him before he could hit the snow a second time. Hiccups hand instinctively clutching at his narrow waist. A waist, Hiccup thought absently, that was surprisingly slim for someone bearing wings broad enough to darken rooftops

Jack all but collapsed into his arms, limbs draped over him heavily. His grateful grin was loose, lopsided, and utterly unguarded, blue-tinged lips parting over a giggle more suited to a sleepy child than a scaled ethereal being. Together they staggered toward the hut, Jack leaning far too much on a companion whose balance depended on peg leg. It was like guiding a glacier with a rope.

By the time they reached the hut, Hiccup’s patience was frayed and his prosthetic foot packed with snow. Wrestling with the latch while Jack drooped against his back was kind of nightmare. The door gave way all at once, and both toppled through with undignified yelps—Jack sprawling across the floorboards in a tangle of limbs and wing joints, Hiccup breathless and laughing.

“Bed,” Hiccup said with a sigh, nudging the dragon-hybrid toward the monstrosity of a resting space that dominated the room. Wide enough to fit Jack’s wingspan and then some, the absurdly large bed was piled in furs and linens. Jack gave a mumbled protest, then flopped backward with a theatrical groan.

Hiccup moved around the space on muscle memory, fingers tugging back the draping covers from the phosphorescent flightmare algae lamps he installed. The moment it fell away, the room flooded with a gentle bioluminescent blue, bathing everything in ghost-light.

It was a tactical misstep.

The glow caressed Jack’s figure in a way no glow ought to, highlighting the fluttering pulse of his wing, the smooth surface of his stomach, and the elegant agony of him struggling to peel out of his cloak. Wings twitched, claws snagged delicate fabric, and his tail swung with every frustrated grunt.

Hiccup blinked hard, banishing whatever nonsense had taken hold of his brain. He crossed the room and sat behind the hybrid on the bed, gently tucking Jack’s wings into alignment before helping slide the cloak free of his shoulders. The cloth caught around his ear; Jack huffed in protest, breath frosting the air. With practiced care, Hiccup worked it free and folded it neatly, noting with a half-smile how Jack’s head lolled back slightly in exhausted relief.

“You need something easier to undo,” Hiccup muttered, mentally sketching leather straps and wing-friendly closures. He set the cloak aside and tried very hard not to stare at the man’s bare back, pale, ice freckled in patches, interrupted by the scaled ridges where wings grew from flesh. When Jack stretched, his wings fanned open lazily, casting shadows across the floor.

Hiccup turned away, tugging at the latch on his prosthetic with more focus than necessary. The mechanical click drew Jack’s gaze. He tilted his head, blinking curiously, pale lashes fluttering.

“Oh-this?” Hiccup twisted the leg off with a practiced motion and held it up. “It’s not as exciting as yours.” He offered it to Jack, who took it in both hands as if it might scurry away, gentle, reverent, wide-eyed.

Jack studied it in silence, then looked at Hiccup, almost as if seeing him properly for the first time. Hiccup settled beside him, raising the stump to rest on the bed between them.

“Me and Toothless got into some trouble once,” he murmured, absently rubbing the edge of scarred skin. “I fell. He couldn’t catch me in time.”

There wasn’t judgment in Jack’s expression, just pain. He lifted one clawed hand and conjured, from the air and chill and magic of his kind, a miniature snow-illusion. The Red Death, unmistakable. Wings spread, maw open. Astrid did tell him that he filled Jack in, but this picture was far too vivid.

Hiccup stared at it, the blood roaring in his ears. Then at Jack. The dragon hybrid’s pupils had narrowed to slits, ears slicked down against his hair, lips parted around some soundless dread.

“How… Jack, how do you know what that looked like?”

But Jack only shook his head with a kind of panicked violence, the illusion scattering like dust. His whole frame trembled, and in that moment, Hiccup saw it, true fear, he hated how often he had to see it on Jacks face.

So he let it go. For now.

Jack made a small sound and tapped Hiccup’s knee, drawing attention back to his stump. Hiccup startled, he hadn’t realized how hard he’d been pressing his thumb to a sore knot of phantom pain. Jack frowned, then, delicately, brushed the hand away.

The scaled hand hovered over the aching spot for a moment, claws flexing uncertainly. When Hiccup gave a slight nod, Jack lowered his palm. The cold washed over the limb like balm poured onto smoldering coal. Hiccup exhaled.

 

He let out a long sigh, the kind that carried the weight of half a dozen near-death experiences and one rather tipsy Snoggletog feast. Jack still had his clawed hand resting gently on his leg, like frost silently threading into bruised bark.

“Thanks,” Hiccup mumbled, his voice a hush between them.

Jack blinked slowly, eyes bright and glassy under the pulsing blue glow. The hybrid’s other wing drooped low, dragging slightly across the floor as he shifted with a groggy groan. A gust of his chill breath dusted the air. He tilted his head, white hair spilling over one brow, and looked vaguely confused.

“Sss-tay?” he muttered, the word broken, but clear enough.

Hiccup blinked. “You want me to—?” His words trailed off as Jack clumsily wrapped his tail around the bedpost like an anchor, then flopped sideways across the mattress in a graceless sprawl of limbs and slightly askew wings. He squinted back at Hiccup, face tinged with unmistakable powder-blue along his cheekbones.

“Jack, you’re practically a lizard popsicle. You need covers,” Hiccup said, fumbling for a blanket. Jack made a noise, half protest, half yawn and reached out again, this time curling a clawed hand around Hiccup’s wrist. His grip was surprisingly soft.

“No ” Jack insisted, eyes already drooping. “Wa—rrrm.”

“Oh, so now I’m a space heater,” Hiccup chuckled, but there was no real fight in it. He rolled his eyes and edged onto the bed, carefully navigating past one clawed foot and a twitching wing. The moment he settled, Jack, with the confidence of the very inebriated, immediately curled around him. Not tightly, just enough for one wing to throw over them like a canopy, like a dragon-shaped tent.

The chill that clung to Jack melted where their bodies touched—Hiccup’s skin almost burning in contrast.

Jack’s claws hovered over Hiccups midsection, as if afraid to touch him.

“You’re fine,” Hiccup whispered, tugging a fur over himself. “Just try not to freeze me in your sleep, alright?”

“Hmm…” Jack’s eyes drifted shut. A lazy thrum vibrated in his chest, sound would have been concerning if he weren’t half dragon.

In the silence, Hiccup lay stiff for a moment, trying to ignore how his heart was doing its best dragon impression too, thundering unevenly in his chest. Then, tentatively,he shifted, resting one hand over Jack’s scaled forearm.

The blue glow caught only the edges of the draconic silhouette, his breath misting into the cold. Hiccup tried to still his heart until he fell asleep.

 

Wrapped in furs like a burrito, Hiccup woke to muffled stuffy warmth and alarming immobility.

The cocoon of pelts was unyielding, compressing from all sides in thick layers that radiated a subtle heat and the faint scent of dragon breath. He wriggled, squirmed, his effort resulting only in an embarrassed grunt. Somewhere below, a noise stirred: the soft scrabble of claws on wood, the squeaky rumbles of tiny thunderpedes housed beneath. The access point creaked, and through the haze of morning light, Jack ascended from the stairs, arms brimming with… more hides.

Freshly heated furs, still steaming faintly, were added atop the pile already threatening to suffocate the poor Viking. Jack murmured anxious coos, brows deeply furrowed, his white hair tousled like an unkempt cloud.

“Jack—jaaack,” Hiccup’s voice came strained and pitchy from within the mound. “Can you hear me? Jack?” The third call finally broke through Jack’s feverish focus. He knelt swiftly, his face alarmed, silver eyes scanning for signs of frostbite, panic crumbling his composure. He babbled frantic questions too fast, too slurred to untangle. A flurry of worry.

“I’m not cold,” Hiccup wheezed, “I assume that’s what you’re asking. However… I am pretty close to suffocating here.” The final “please” squeaked out like a mouse trapped in a sock drawer.

Jack froze. Literally. He had wrapped himself around Hiccup last night, a protective embrace in a half-sleep. When he’d seen Hiccup’s breath mist in the morning air, he panicked. His powers must have cooled the air, not realizing how cold the room has gotten. He tried to preserve the sleeping viking with warmed blankets.

With careful talons, he began to peel back the mess he’d made, claws trembling as he sought out signs of damage. Hiccup’s fingers were pink and warm, his laugh bubbling up bright and amused, scattering Jack’s dread.

“I said I was fine, Jack,” Hiccup said gently, sitting up at last, propping his prosthetic leg into place with practiced grace.

Just then, a tremor rattled the beams overhead, followed by the eager, chirped roar of Toothless from the roof.

Jack’s ears perked, and Hiccup chuckled. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he groaned, stretching his back with an audible crack and nodding toward the door.

Jack scrambled, slipping into his shirt and cloak with the urgency. Dressing was infinitely easier sober in daylight, wings folded neatly, tail not tangling.

Outside, the sky was burnished gold and peach, Dragons Edge still asleep. Toothless chittered impatiently as he dropped from the roof with a thump, landing in gleeful little hops while Hiccup mounted the saddle.

“Morning, Mister Bossy,” he yawned, tousled and still laughing. “Do we always have to fly so early?”

Toothless responded with a mocking snort and a playful headbutt.

He and toothless jumped to the air flapping close by as if they were waiting for something. “Are you coming or not?”

From the ground, Jack tilted his head, he let out confused burble. “I thought Astrid said you could fly by now…” Hiccup mused.

Then Jack leapt.

The ground vanished beneath him in a gust of wind and flared wings. He soared effortlessly, flapping into place beside Toothless with a grin and scattering snowflakes.

They rose with the wind, the trio carving arcs through the sky like ink across a parchment of clouds. Sea stacks jutted from the frostbitten water below, jagged and looming in the morning light.

Toothless zipped ahead, doing quick barrel rolls and looping lazily around rocky spires. Jack followed in a zigzag flurry, cold winds trailing from his wings as he went. His frost powers laced the air in shimmering curls, each flap releasing a breath of winter, coating the edges of sea stacks in rime.

Hiccup clung tight to Toothless, grinning like a boy possessed, shouting into the wind. Jack flipped once, twice, tumbling over Toothless’s head in an aerial somersault before diving between two stacks. He resurfaced with a cheeky chirp, white hair popped out like a stoat.

Toothless retaliated, flicking his tail straight into Jack’s face.

Jack sputtered, then grinned. His eyes narrowed at the challenge.

The chase was on.

They darted through tight arches and narrow columns, danced in tandem around swirling eddies, teasing one another with mock-dives and stolen bursts of speed. Jack threw out a sheet of frost at one point, and Toothless skidded mid-air with exaggerated panic, then pounced, sending both dragons tumbling through clouds in a squealing, clumsy spiral.

Hiccup’s scream echoed above the waves, breathless, with a hint of laughter.

Jack dipped low, wings slicing the reflection of sky off the ocean, then shot up again, his face glowing and flushed, a dusting of blue blush on his cheeks. Hiccup saw it when their paths aligned for a heartbeat. They exchanged a look that seemed to last for only ages, blue eyes locked in green.

Eventually, Toothless slowed and glided toward the distant clubhouse perched at the edge of the cliff.

They landed with gracefully, talons crunching frost.

Toothless snorted. Jack stumbled slightly on impact, then stood, hair windblown and smiling. Hiccup dismounted with a groan, his bones aching, his spirits soaring.

But something tugged at the edges of the moment.

Everyone was already gathered at the clubhouse.

Too early. An emergency meeting then.

Jack’s ears flicked nervously.

Hiccup frowned.

The riders hunched over the sprawling map of the archipelago, brows furrowed with urgency. Astrid, already armored in iridescent Nadder scales, stabbed her finger toward the northwest. She glanced at Hiccup and nodded firmly.

“Terror mail just came in. The hunter ship has linked up with two others,” she announced, voice stern. “They’re heading straight toward an outpost line. We find them before they meet their reinforcements. Jack’s island is too close. If they tell the others about it…” She didn’t finish. The silence spoke loud enough.

“All hands on deck. We fly in one hour.”

The room emptied like a gust blown through it. Riders scattered to gear up, bolting to their huts like their boots were on fire. Jack followed the rhythm of urgency, heart pulsing with the thrill of possibility. Finally-finally, he could join. His side, no longer torn and mending, had healed. His armor, crafted with Hiccup’s careful touch, glinted as he clutched it to his chest. He sprinted back to the clubhouse, helmet tucked under one arm, frost trailing faintly behind him.

Astrid was the only one there, a statue of readiness, axe balanced at her hip. Her steel-blue eyes softened when they landed on him.

“Oh… Jack,” she said slowly, hesitating. “You can’t come. Not yet.”

Time stalled.

Jack’s grip on the helmet tightened, claws digging into the lining. He opened his mouth, lips trembling around words that didn’t come out. Frustration surged through him like a blizzard.

Then came the thundering stomp of Hookfang and Fishlegs’ reassuring bulk. Snotlout swung off his saddle with a grin wide enough to rival a Monstrous Nightmare’s. “Finally taking Winter Incarnate on a mission. About time.”

Jack’s frost-blue eyes lit up, his hopes flickering brighter, maybe theres a chance, until he saw Hiccup.

The twins, arms waving in solidarity, stood with Fishlegs nearby, all wearing encouraging smiles. But Hiccup stepped forward and extinguished Jack’s hopes with quiet authority.

“No. We’re not.”

It wasn’t anger that cut Jack down, it was betrayal.

“You… s-aid…” he started, voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. The helmet trembled in his hands. Last night had been a promise, that he was one of them.

Hiccup’s expression wavered, firm lines of leadership giving way to regret. “Jack,” he began softly, “we haven’t trained you yet. I can’t let you dive headfirst into a fleet of hunter ships. If they capture you…”

The sentence drifted off like fog. Every rider knew the threat, the danger of a hybrid dragon-human, a living miracle, falling into cruel hands.

“And the little ones need you,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “They wouldn’t survive without you.”

Rage boiled under Jack’s skin, not the kind that lashed out, but the kind that froze everything inside. He turned, setting the helmet down on the cold stone table with a finality that echoed louder than any protest.

He didn’t meet Hiccup’s eyes.

Didn’t answer the twins. Not that he heard what they said to him.

Didn’t speak a word as he launched himself skyward toward the sea stacks they’d flown past just minutes before.

Frost trailed behind his wings, cracking the air as clouds rolled thick and heavy above Dragon’s Edge. The storm mirrored the turmoil inside him, unspoken words, denied hope, love souring in the air.

For the first time in moons, Jack didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t watch the Riders lift off.

There he was, alone. Again.

And this time, it hurt more than the cold.

 

First day was bad. Jack’s breath formed clouds as he crouched beside the four hatchlings nestled into blankets of snow-chilled moss. He had cooled them down with care, stroked their crests until their eyelids drooped into sleep, and laid beside them with hopes of rest. But comfort evaded him.

He tossed and turned until Fizz, the boldest of the brood, kicked him square in the face with a chirp of frustration. Jack blinked up at the ceiling, sighed, and sat upright, snow clinging to his cheeks.

Fine. He wasn’t needed here either.

Whistle nudged his arm before slinking back to her siblings, soft and apologetic, like she understood he was hurting, though she couldn’t fix it. Jack gave her a gentle pat between on her horn and stepped out into the icy morning, his wings shuddering with restless energy.

The wind was brisk. He chased it.

He flew endless loops around the island until his wings burned and begged for reprieve. His shadow skimmed the sea below, solitary and pale against the waves. When he finally landed by the forge, the silence gnawed at him. He stepped inside, a trill calling out instinctively.

The sound fell flat against cold stone.

Jack’s heart sank, and he moved quietly through the room unseen, uncelebrated. He made windchimes out of the remaining scraps and wood. He worked until dawn arrived, flushing the sky pink and silver.

And still… he couldn’t rest.

So he inspected the island, every tower, every trap, every warning signal like Astrid had taught him. They didn’t trust him to fly beside them, fine. But he could still guard this home with everything he had.

By midday, he perched atop the snowy peak with the wind whipping around him, gaze scanning the horizon. Nothing. Just quiet.

That evening, he met Smidvarg and the rest of night terrors near the cliffs. Their curious chirps and swirling flight patterns brought a sliver of warmth to his chest, a brief flicker of connection in the loneliness. He laughed softly when one of them landed atop his head, wings folded contentedly. But then the sun began its descent again.

The second day was worse.

They said two to three days. Maybe they were on their way. Maybe.

He slept in the clubhouse that night, curled in the shadows. Every creak and whisper made his ears twitch. He didn’t dream, he just waited.

Morning came.

Jack raced outside, scanning the sky, searching for the glint of armor, the roar of dragon wings. There was nothing. Not even Toothless.

He flew along the island’s edge, keeping it to his right, looping out over the sea in widening spirals. The ocean stretched endlessly, cold and merciless beneath him. His heart pounded harder than his wings.

Not good. Not good at all.

He landed in a flurry of panic, claws digging into snow. He couldn’t read the map. No sense of where they’d gone. He cursed himself silently, he should’ve watched which direction they flew off, should have said goodbye. He should’ve asked to learn maps from Hiccup.

He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t flying into danger, not if he couldn’t track his friends. But he had to do something. He needed help.

That’s it. Help.

He bolted to his hut, nearly tearing the door from its hinges. Papers flew from drawers, Fishlegs’ runestones clattering to the floor as he frantically searched for the right ones. He grabbed three, shoved them into his pocket, then dashed for the clubhouse, parchment in tow.

Ink spilled. Goose feathers broke in his grip. He dipped a claw directly into the well and forced himself to write steady.

Danger. Help. Now.

Three runes. One desperate plea.

He rolled the message carefully, fingers trembling as he tore leather twine from a hanging canvas and bound it tight. The hardest part was coaxing the Terrible Terror down from its perch. The tiny dragon trembled beneath Jack’s freezing gaze, eyes wide with Jack’s fear.

But the moment the scroll was tied on, the little beast looked up at Jack with understanding, and flew.

“Go,” Jack whispered.

Hopefully to Berk. To safety. To someone who’ll listen.

Now all he could do… was wait.

 

It was agony.

Jack sat atop the wind-worn peak, knees tucked to his chest, eyes squinting against the horizon’s cruel vacancy. He hated waiting. Time had no grace, it dragged, relentless and slow, with claws sharper than any dragon’s.

From what he remembered, it took a dragon one and a half days to reach Berk. If his tiny parchment had been taken seriously, help should arrive in three. But if no help came? If the message was ignored, lost, or dismissed?

Then Jack would fly.

Straight and blindly, toward where he assumed his island lay. He didn’t care about the odds. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

 

He couldn’t take it much longer, doing nothing carved gorges in his spirit.

Every dawn and dusk at Dragon’s Edge was draped in silence. The once-vibrant outpost felt like bones of a forgotten beast, lifeless, hollow, only memories of laughter, flight, and firelight.

Jack kept himself busy because the alternative was drowning.

He fed the Thunderpede hatchlings religiously, chilled fish and carved nests kept them calm. When they chirped in hunger or whimpered in sleep, he soothed them with soft frost-breath and hummed lullabies. He shaped snow sculptures that rose tall between huts, Toothless coiled mid-flight, Hiccup with wind-blown hair, even Astrid in battle stance. Some he crushed hours later, when the ache was too loud. He patrolled the defenses like a lone sentry, checking towers, sharpening weapons, whispering apologies to carved dragons that couldn’t reply. He summoned a harsh winter, hoping maybe the weather could send messages where words failed. The Storms drifted with his moods, sleet when sorrow choked him, dry frost when anger bubbled beneath his skin.

By the dawn of the third day, Jack stood in full armor.

Blue and white scales shimmered across his chest. His helmet, carved into the shape of a dragon’s open jaw, rested under one arm, and his breath fogged in anticipation.

He was ready.

But no wild stampede came, no winged fleet.

Only two dragons curled across the sky like stray comets. He squinted. Not the cavalry he’d hoped for… but it was something. He darted toward the stables, feet pounding frost-slicked ground, ready to lead them to the clubhouse.

But what greeted him wasn’t understanding.

It was fury.

A mountain of a man roared into the clearing, grabbed Jack by the throat, and slammed him against the hut wall with the force of a charging Gronckle. Wood cracked. Jack choked, legs kicking uselessly beneath him.

“WHERE ARE THEY!” the man barked into his face, beard trembling with anger.

Jack clawed wildly at the bracers. Words choked in his throat, not that he had any useful ones. He hadn’t known their exact path. That’s why he called for help. And maybe-maybe don’t strangle the guy if you want answers?

His vision swam. He gasped, struggling, frost gathering around his claws in desperation.

Then-a thud.

The second dragon landed hard behind the red-bearded tyrant. Unfamiliar, Slow, Heavy sett. A blond mustache dashed into view, limping toward them.

“STOICK! PUT THE POOR LAD DOWN!” he cried, brandishing a metal hammer attached where an arm should be. “I didn’t patch him up for nuthin’!”

Still, Stoick did not relent.

The blond Viking growled, “Open your eyes, you great buffoon! You think the lad waited for Hiccup to forge scaled armor just before making the Riders and dragons vanish? Use your head!”

Stoick paused, eyes scanning Jack, now wheezing, pupils slit like a panicked beast. His canines glinted. His claws trembled. His helmet had rolled to the side.

“Did Hiccup make that for you?” Stoick asked, voice lowered, dangerous.

Jack gave a weak nod, claw still clutching the man’s wrist, one hand lifting to point shakily at the driftwood Snoggletog tree near the forge, its twisting lights still faintly glowing.

Stoick’s eyes followed. Blond mustache stepped beside him, nodding solemnly.

Then…CLANG!

The hammer smacked Stoick’s helmet with a hollow thud.

“Holiday gift, you muttonhead! He’s probably the one who summoned us! Even Snotlout writes better messages, well, maybe not.”

Jack blinked, sending the blond Viking a deeply offended glare.

“Hah! Okay, maybe you win that one.”

Slowly, Stoick set Jack down, still looming like a stormcloud. Jack ducked out, scooping up his helmet and rubbing his sore neck. The blond gave him a nod, which Jack returned, grudgingly grateful.

Not every Viking was mad. Maybe just the chiefs.

But why was Berk’s chief here?

He didn’t ask. Didn’t want small talk. Just help.

He motioned for them to follow and led the way to the clubhouse, rushing past snow-piled gear and half-forged weapons. The battle map was still spread across the table, ink marking movements and danger zones. Jack handed the latest scrolls to Stoick, who unrolled them with a muttered curse.

“They went after a fleet,” he growled. “Heading north, northwest… the bullheaded, bloody-”

“-Stubborn like their parents,” the blond interrupted. “So, what do we do now?”

 

“you stay here with Grump, protect the edge adn send for back up in case i dont return. Me and Skullcrusher will track them”

 

Jack nodded once and fastened his helmet, the dragon-shaped visor casting shadows across his angular features. Stoick stiffened.

“Oh no, creature. You’re not coming,” the chief barked, voice laden with finality.

But Jack stood tall, wings and shoulders squared beneath his blue-and-white armor. His voice was low, rasped and edged from the previous assault, hoarse, but undeniably human.

“I am.”

The vikings froze.

Stoick and Gobber blinked at him, words snagging behind shocked expressions. Jack used their pause. He lifted one clawed hand to his chest.

“Jack.”

A gust of cold ruffled the banners overhead, swirling through the room like an exclamation. Gobber doubled over, laughter spilling out in wheezing bursts.

“Bloody Hel, he told you! Hah! Not often someone shuts this big lump up. Good job, son!”

He gestured at himself with a grin. “Gobber. And that broody ginger’s Stoick.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed. “What are you?”

Jack merely shrugged, a smirk curling behind the helm’s edge. Then he strode to the table, snatched parchment and coal, and sketched with swift, fluid strokes, four rounded hatchlings, chubby and wide-eyed, and a crude map of the island, marking their location. He handed it to Gobber.

“Care?”

Gobber examined the page, humming thoughtfully. “You look too young to be a parent,” he muttered, “but aye, me and Grump’ll mind the buggers.”

Jack’s smile was soft, quiet, but true. Gratitude gleamed in his gaze.

Stoick turned with slow horror. “You have offspring?”

Jack looked utterly offended.

Then, after a second, so serious it made Gobber choke on a snort. He nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

Gobber clutched the parchment like sacred treasure, giving Jack a mischievous wink out of Stoick’s line of sight. Jack nearly cracked a laugh. Nearly.

Outside, Stoick shuddered visibly as he picked a vest off a chair and called to the rumbling dragon outside.

“Go find him. Skullcrusher.”

The Rumblehorn sniffed at the fabric, released a roar that shook the stables, then bounded outside. Stoick followed without a word, mounting in one practiced swing and vanishing into the clouds.

Jack stood stunned for a moment, until Gobber nudged him toward the door.

“Are you gonna stand there or go save some idiots? That one included.”

Jack chuffed in amusement, already liking the man. He snatched a satchel from the table and took off, talons scraping stone as he soared after Stoick.

 

Skullcrusher sliced through the clouds, and Stoick scowled beneath his helm.

He didn’t know what to think of the hybrid.

Dragons, he understood. Humans, well he was one. But this cold forged blend of both? It rattled something deeper than logic.

Still, he felt an odd relief when the hybrid didn’t follow. Let the creature stay behind. Let him keep that strange expression far from battle.

Then, from above chuckling.

A dragon’s laugh?

No. Jack.

He lowered himself through the clouds with frost trailing behind, and Stoick’s heart skipped. Armor glinting, helmet in place, wings swept wide, the hybrid was almost indistinguishable from any known dragon. But Stoic knew there were human pieces under the sewed on scales.

It made his stomach churn.

They flew together in taut silence, until Jack rolled midair, belly to the sky, cruising beside Skullcrusher like it was a game. He let out a series of warbles, playfully chirping.

To Stoick’s horror, Skullcrusher responded.

“Stop that,” he barked.

Jack soared upward, turned in air, and met Stoick’s eyes through the helm.

Deadpan.

“No.”

Stoick grunted, stunned into silence as Jack veered off, continuing his… conversation.

 

Hours passed.

Clouds thinned into strands of mist as they crossed into northern territory. Stoick’s stomach grumbled, low and bitter.

Jack circled above, listening, then swooped down and dangled a satchel in front of him.

“What is this?” Stoick growled, snatching the bundle. Jack gestured for him to open it.

Inside? Crabcakes.

Stoick stared.

Jack swooped low, snatched one, and ate it comically slow, swinging his legs in flight. Stoick wasn’t amused, but he did eat. Eventually.

A grunt escaped his throat that might’ve been approval.

 

Later, the chief finally spoke.

“Creature, you understand speech, right?”

No answer.

“Jack, was it?”

A soft reply. “Yes.”

Stoick hesitated.

“We need a plan of attack. There are three hunter ships. Astrid’s intel says they’re close. Skullcrusher and I need to locate the Riders, free them. We’ll need a distraction. Can you handle that?”

A pause. Then an amused huff.

Jack’s form shimmered, trailing fog like whispered frost. From beneath the helmet came the calm, confident answer:

“Yes.”

“You are not to engage,” Stoick warned. “Under any circumstances.”

Another huff.

Stoick took it for agreement, he didn’t expect to get this far.

Then, thirty minutes later, Skullcrusher dipped in flight, roaring low. He had caught a scent.

Both Jack and Stoick fell silent, wind rushing between them. Stoick nodded once.

Jack exploded forward with a high-pitched whine, not unlike Toothless before a blast, white spirals. trailing behind his wings.

The sky was a deceptive shade of calm. Wisps of sunlit clouds glided past as Jack, he soared high above them, his wings silent against the wind. The weather was clear, but dread swirled in his chest like thunderclouds.

He kept to the cloud’s veil, too distant to be seen, waiting for just the right moment. And then he spotted them, ships, clustered and crawling toward the horizon like ants on a hill.

Three targets, they’d said. But what lay below wasn’t three. It was around fifteen.

Jack faltered mid-flight, wings twitching as panic surged through him. But the mission hadn’t changed: lure the hunters, make enough chaos for Stoick to slip through the belly of the fleet and find the riders. He was alone, but he could do this. He had to.

He summoned a whine, a piercing, unnatural sound halfway between a howl and a roar, and bared his teeth. The ships turned. He heard a chorus of terrified screams:
“DRAGON!”

Good. Let the distraction begin.

Nets flung skyward like spiderwebs, ballistas fired with cruel precision. Jack exhaled thick mist and trailing smoke, curling around his scales like armor. He dove and twisted through the projectiles, slipping between them with uncanny grace, casting a rolling fog over the sea that clung to hulls like seaweed.

His claws scraped against the sides of ships, sending wooden panels and crew scrambling. Dragons housed aboard those ships snarled in confusion, and the fleet fractured, attention scattered, looking for him, panic spreading.

Green-tipped arrows sliced through the air. Too close. He puffed more fog, but not too much. Stoick needed a path. Visibility had to be preserved.

Far on the other side of the fleet, Stoick clung to the edge of Skullcrusher’s saddle, flying low through the fog. The hybrid’s disruption was working. Jack had drawn nearly every ship’s attention. The chief barely muttered the words, but a grudging respect simmered behind his brow.

“I hope your nose is right,” he grunted to his dragon as they followed Hiccup’s scent through the maze of steel-clad vessels. His son was out here, somewhere. And Stoick would tear through every hull to find him.

They’d passed two ships before a shout broke through the mist. Stealth was out the window.

Stoick leapt from Skullcrusher’s back and landed heavily on a deck bristling with hunters. Axe gleaming, he cleaved through them as though the crew were made of parchment. Men screamed and flew overboard as Skullcrusher rammed into the melee with brutal efficiency. The fog swirled with each body hitting the sea.

He made his way below deck, Stoick’s blood went cold.

Hiccup lay slumped in a green-patinated cage, facing away, bruised, bloodied. The chief rushed forward, gripping the bars. “Son! Hiccup!”

A groan. The boy stirred.

“Skullcrusher! Blast it!” Stoick bellowed.

“No, no!” Hiccup panicked, sitting up. The explosion flared… and nothing. When the smoke settled, the bars were untouched.

“What in Odin’s beard…” Stoick whispered.

“They’re dragonproof, Dad. You gotta go. Now.”

The warning came too late. The corridor flooded with dragon hunters, who got alerted by the noise of the blast. Stoick fought like the thunder incarnate, striking down men atop the corpses of others, axe flashing, roaring. But numbers prevailed. Skullcrusher was struck with a dart and crumpled. He was dragged into a neighboring cage, beside Toothless, whose wings and muzzle were bound tight.

Stoick was shoved in beside his son. He scrambled for the bars, shaking them, eyes wild. Five men shoved until the lock snapped shut.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Hiccup muttered, lips split and voice dry. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you out,” Stoick said, clutching his son’s shoulder with trembling hands.

“Really? How’s that going for you?” Hiccup rasped with sarcasm, leaning back. “How’d you even know where to find us?”

“The crea—Jack. He sent a terror mail. Showed us your map in the clubhouse.”

At the name, Hiccup sat bolt upright. “Is he safe? Is Dragons Edge secure?” His voice cracked with desperation. “Tell me he’s alright, Dad.”

Stoick was taken aback. His son spoke of the creature with… affection.

“He’s here. He’s the distraction.” The chief’s voice was low.

Hiccup’s expression shattered. “No. No, no. They have dragon root weapons. You’ve seen him, dad. -If they catch him…”

“I told him not to engage.”

The ship lurched suddenly. Prisoners and guards fell forward. The ocean’s familiar rhythm stilled. A terrifying cold crept across the floor, breath’s fogging the air like smoke.

Hiccup blinked. Deadpan.

“You don’t say.”

 

Jack has had enough.

He tore through the dense sea fog like a shooting star. He’d been circling the hunter fleet for what felt like ages, darting between ships and unleashing, small bursts of power. Kicking and damaging hulls as he went. Still no sign of Stoick. No firestorms of fleeing dragons. Just Jack, alone.

Do not engage his ass.

Patience gone, he descended into the mist, claws kissing the surface of the water, and with a silent push from within, released a wave of cold. The sea groaned and hardened beneath him, a frozen plain locking the ships in place. Fog curled outward, thick and unnatural, his breath conjuring cover while he scanned the air currents. The hunters were blind. Jack was not.

He struck like a phantom.

Ship by ship, he skulked on all fours, a blur of scale and fury. His tail swept hunters aside, knocking them off the ships, they landed in the ice with cracks and thuds. Cages cracked under his breath, the green metal fraying in the cold. Each liberated dragon spiraled upward into the fog with a grateful cry. He sent each and every one straight up, out of weapon range.

When he reached the fourth ship, dread coiled tight in his chest.

He found Fishlegs caged. Meatlug chained. Jack shook with rage. One side of Fishlegs’ face was swollen purple. Meatlug, still and sorrowful, lit up upon seeing him, her eyes round as saucers. Ice spread, fragile and pale. A flick of Jack’s tail shattered the locks. Fishlegs nearly tripped in his rush toward Meatlug, worry etched on his expression. Jack, gentle and efficient, froze the last chain link inches from her leg, then pulverized it.

He spoke firm “Up. Wait.” With a nod Fishlegs mounted Meatlug and vanished skyward.

Jack became a storm. Two more ships fell. Screams echoed through the mist, confusion rampant, fear palpable.

On the seventh ship, Hookfang lay curled and bound, held by bars and chains. Jack approached slowly. “Behind you!” shouted Snotlout from his cage. Jack’s tail whipped, smashing a charging hunter into into a wall then unconsciousness. A growl rose in his throat, low, threatening.

Hookfang thrashed until Jack approached him. Their eyes met. Hookfang’s nostrils let out some steam as he relaxed. Jack shattered the bars and freezing the chains while minding the dragons limbs, crooning soft reassurances. Once he was free Hookfang nuzzled him with such force, he squished Jack against a beam.

Once let go Jack moved again, freezing rest of the cages, ripping through metal like parchment. Snotlout hollered, “JACK IS IN THE HOUSE!” his voice half exhilarated, half disbelieving. Jack reared back and crushed his lock with his claws. The door blasted open, only for Snotlout to tackle him into a crushing hug.

Caught off guard, Jack yelped. The fury lessening in his stomach.

“I-I wasn’t hugging you or anything,” stammered Snotlout, as he stood up. “There was… AN ARROW! I tackled you to save you. Obviously.”

Jack rose, a rare smile curving on his face. “Up. Fish-egs,” he said quietly.

Snotlout snorted at the name but nodded. He mounted Hookfang, who offered Jack one last grateful look before shooting up. Jack turned, many ships still looming in the fog.

 

He hovered above the shattered fleet, fog enveloping the battlefield. He waited untill the dragons and the viking out of range before he moved again.

The next ship was different. No dragons screamed in captivity there. Instead, the deck was a grim warehouse of sorts, barrels slick with a green slidge-like substance, chains with unnatural green hues, weapons in the same color. It smelled putrid and acidic.

He landed atop the mast. Energy gathered at his core. With a roar that splintered the silence, twin spires of ice erupted, framing the vessel on each side. Spire upon spire rose, the weight cracking the ice below. The ship groaned beneath its burden and began to sink.

It was then, in the effort and strain, that his fog slipped.

Exposed, crouched atop the mast, Jack became a target. Arrows hissed through the air, green, sharp, deadly. Reflexively, his wings wrapped around his body. Thuds echoed as the arrows ricocheted harmlessly. Huh, not fireproof, but though.

Good to know.

A whirling bola struck his shoulder, snapping him sideways. He growled through clenched teeth, shook it off, and flew again, his bones aching.

Eight ships destroyed. Seven to go.
The exhaustion was setting in. Every beat of his wings sent needles down his spine. He landed heavy onto the deck of the next ship, fog trailing behind him lazily.

Bodies littered the boards. He hadn’t been here yet, he was sure of it. The remaining crew scrambled; Jack dispatched them with precision, reinforcing the mist with each motion. Holding the camouflage over the fleet demanded everything now. His lungs pulled at the strain.

He dropped low, skimming the decks on all fours.

Each step was calculated. Each breath, primal.

He descended.

A hallway lined with guards greeted him. He was too tired. He growled low and leapt, guard to guard, freezing limbs and bodies with bare touch. Some fell and shattered like glass.

Then came the moment.

Hiccup.
Bruised. Shackled. Standing opposite, barely upright.

Ice bloomed beneath Jack’s feet, traveling up the metal bars with a hiss. Cages began to crack even before he touched them. His tail thrashed and whipped sideways, splintering bars without ceremony.

A sound, soft, familiar, jerked his head around.

Toothless.

He rushed to the Night Fury, claws dancing as he shredded bindings. As the jet-black dragon surged forward in joy, something in Jack’s heart wavered. Pupils dilated. Anger dulled.

He rose to his haunches again, gripping the lock of Hiccup’s and Stoick’s cage. A growl. A twist. Ice overtook metal and it crumbled like a week old pastry. Stoick’s towering figure stepped forward.

Jack didn’t care.

He pushed past the chief with ease, barely needing effort to nudge him aside.

And then he saw Hiccup’s face up close, bloodied, bruised, eyes burning despite the pain. The Viking boy stumbled toward him, words barely formed.
“Jack I-”

But Jack was already there.

One clawed hand cradled the back of Hiccup’s head. The other wrapped around his waist, pulling him in like a lifeline.

A breath escaped Jack’s lips, shaky and broken. He didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not ever.

Jack held on for a moment longer, his grip firm around form of the bruised Viking. His clawed hands trembled, from exhaustion and from dread, they are not finished yet. He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead against Hiccup’s for the briefest instant. Then, reluctantly, his arms slipped away.

He met Hiccup’s gaze and spoke low, voice rough with emotion.

“Go up no-w.”

Toothless surged forward at his call, his green eyes wide and alert, attuned to the subtle panic in Jack’s tone. Hiccup climbed onto the Night Fury’s back, casting one glance behind him. At Jack. At the chaos around them.

With the cage doors shattered, Skullcrusher groggily lumbered toward the chief, Stoick rushed to him, wary and resolute. Toothless roared once, unleashing a plasma blast that tore a hole in the ship’s side. They ascended into the air, disappearing into the layers of cloud that shielded the sky from view.

Above the fog line, the grey veil broke into daylight. Fishlegs and Snotlout hovered anxiously, scanning every direction. Their faces lit with disbelief and joy as they saw Toothless climb through, followed by more dragons emerging one after another. The sky began to fill again.

Jack did a loop, body dragging slightly to one side, relieving pressure on the injured shoulder. He glanced over the group, counting each dragon and rider, confirming mentally who was safe. His eyes narrowed. His wings shifted. He dipped lower, preparing to re-enter the action.

But just as he tilted forward, Toothless streaked across his path, blocking the descent. Hiccup sat straight in the saddle, arms crossed with stern exasperation.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Toothless followed with a soft, pleading rumble, nudging Jack back with quiet concern.

Jack huffed, flicking his tail irritably, breath misting into a cloud. “Six mo—rr.”

“No,” Hiccup interrupted sharply. “You’re not going back down there alone. You’re clearly exhausted, Jack.”

Jack growled, a low grumble rolling through his throat.

Hiccup’s voice deepened with conviction. “We make a plan. We go down together.”

Jack hovered in place, wings twitching with annoyance. He looked to Toothless, then back at Hiccup. They were so stubborn. He stayed.

They formed a plan fast. Jack and Toothless would scout first, keeping the fog thick and disorienting while circling the area to pinpoint the remaining ships. Upon locating them, they’d fire a plasma blast skyward. That would be the signal. The rest of the riders would swoop in with their dragons, striking one vessel after another.

Jack, once the crews were dispatched, would break the dragon-fire-proof cages. One final ship, intact and untouched, would be left for interrogation. Stoick and Astrid would handle that, draw answers, find the ships were heading.

The first raid went seamlessly. Jack, despite his exhaustion, arrived with fury in his breath and focus in his bones. The crew fell quickly, and the dragons were freed one by one.

On the second ship, they found Astrid.

Stormfly screeched at the sight of the others, pressing her side against the cage bars. Astrid looked worn, a slash of dried blood painting her brow, her arm held tight against her ribs. Yet as the fog parted and Jack approached, she stood tall. She grinned through the pain.

“What took you so long, huh?”

Jack crouched down, breath shivering with frost as he began freezing the lock. Small, distressed whines escaped him, half apology, half relief.

Astrid extended her hand through the bars and gently tapped his helmet.

“I’m okay, Jack.”

The words stilled him.

Two more ships came and went, both stacked with barrels of green liquid and strange weapons. The moment Jack and Hiccup saw the dark residue clinging to the deck, they exchanged a glance. No discussion necessary. The group agreed: these vessels would never reach land. Toothless, Hookfang, Stormfly, and the others set them ablaze. Ice cracked under the hulls. The ships sank with angry groans.

And then, on the thirteenth ship, there were the twins.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut were tied to opposite ends of the cage, feet propped on barrels, helmets askew.

“Look what the winter dragged in,” Ruffnut muttered, squinting at the creature climbing into the cellblock.

“Oh-ho! Would ya look at that,” Tuffnut drawled. “Jack’s got his scary on. I mean—whoa. Armor and claws? Brooding fog aesthetic? Ten out of ten.”

“I bet if he snarled right now, half the crew would leap off the boat on principle.”

“You think he growls in his sleep?”

“I bet he narrates his own dramatic entrances.”

Jack stared at them.

They grinned in unison.

He rolled his eyes and snapped the bars apart with a slam of his tail. The twins leapt free and began climbing onto Barf and Belch, who looked marginally exasperated but no worse for wear.

“Finally,” Ruffnut chirped. “Now we can get back to the important stuff. Like deciding who looks which hunter looks more like snotlouts dad.”

They took to the sky, laughter echoing over the mist.

Two ships remained.

Ice stretched across the area. Torches bobbed in the mist on the remaining vessels, their desperate orange glow casting long shadows of scrambling men. The final members of dragon hunters were converging on the last few intact ships, slipping and cursing as they scrambled to regroup. Jack’s fog held firm, but their firelight gave them away.

Toothless surged through the veil first, unleashing a blazing plasma blast that shattered crates and supplies. The assault began in full, the air vibrating with shouts, screeches, and the rumble of wings. Hiccup shouted through the chaos, his voice carrying far.

“Watch the green-tipped arrows! Don’t let your dragons get hit!”

The hunters were disorganized but desperate. Stoick, like a force of nature, dove into the fray from above, tearing through enemy ranks with Skullcrusher at his heels. Stormfly hovered above, weaving with Astrid as she sent bursts of spine shots into clusters of men. Then, too late, she turned toward an arrow slipping through the fog behind her.

Jack dropped in like lightning.

His clawed arm swung out, intercepting the shot in midair. It clanged harmlessly against his scales, bouncing aside. Astrid stared in brief shock, He broke into a grin as he cocked his head, eyes sparkling with cocky satisfaction. She returned the expression with a battle-hardened smirk of her own.

Jack moved like a tempest through the chaos, intercepting arrow after arrow. He swatted projectiles aside with his wings, deflected others with the bulk of his armored back, slammed hunters with his tail, knocking them sprawling over the slick deck. The dragons were freed swiftly, their calls rising in the air. Flames and ice danced across the ship until its structure groaned from the assault. The vessel was rendered useless, crumblingslowly onto the icy surface beneath it.

One ship remained.

The riders gathered, knowing this final vessel had to remain intact. Answers were owed. Plans had to be made. Toothless, Hiccup, and Jack descended together, gliding silently through thick fog until their claws met the deck.

From the shadows stepped a man, arms raised in mock civility. His voice rang out, loud and amused.

“Is that what I think it is? Soil my britches! That is a Night Fury! Thought they were all gone for good. And what is that beauty?” He tilted his head as gestured toward Jack, his tone dripping with curiosity. “Never seen one like that before.”

Jack dropped low, all four limbs tense, eyes narrowed. A growl rippled through his throat.

The man chuckled to himself. “Looks like our luck has turned for the better, lads. Don’t think Drago has those two in his dragon army.”

Hiccup dismounted, stepping forward with open hands. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.”

The trapper scoffed. “You should’ve thought of that before you stole all of our dragons and blasted our outpost to bits.”

Hiccup bristled, assuming he referred to the skirmish from weeks past, two ships taken, dragons freed.

“Dragon trapping is hard enough a business without do-gooder dragon riders sneaking in to rescue them. You may have an ice-spitting dragon on your side…” He glanced at Jack. “But we’ve still got a quota to fill.”

Jack hissed, frost snaking from his open maw. Cold spread across the deck beneath him, curling into the seams of the wood, cracks splitting underfoot as the temperature plummeted.

The trapper lifted his hand and gestured to the horizon. As the fog thined. Ships ablaze, vessels sinking, ice field stretching in every direction like the fingers of a vengeful god.

“How do you suppose we explain this mess to Drago Bludvist?”

Hiccup blinked. “Drago whatfist?”

Another hunter chimed in, voice taut. “He’s expecting a new shipment of dragons for his army by tomorrow.”

A third joined, grim and resigned. “And Drago don’t take well to excuses.”

The first man stepped closer and pulled open his tunic to reveal a deep scar across his chest. “This is what he gave me the last time I showed up empty-handed. He promised to be far less understanding in the future.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, look. We don’t know anything about your lunatic boss and his dragon army. Just get out of the archipelago and we’ll leave you be, strange hostile person who we’ve never met.”

The man placed a hand over his heart, mockingly sincere. “Oh, where are my manners? I am Eret, son of Eret.”

He bowed dramatically. “The finest dragon trapper alive. After all, not everyone can capture a species never seen before.”

Jack’s tail whipped around in a blur. Frost billowed around his fangs as blue light gathered in his throat.

“And this is Frost,” Hiccup said coldly. “He says we’re going. Now.”

Eret shrugged, still smirking.

“Ha! They all say that.”

He snapped his fingers.

“Rush ’em, lads!”

The battle begun, weapons clashed against claws and teeth.

Jack and Toothless stood back to back on the blood-slick deck, surrounded by rushing hunters. Their enemies came in waves, armed and furious, slipping across the frost-coated boards as Jack unleashed shards of ice that crept across the wood, coating it in slick, treacherous sheen. Most lost their footing, crashing into barrels, crates, each other.

Toothless lashed out with teeth and tail, slamming a charging figure into the rail. Hiccup spun his flaming sword in wide arcs, firelight painting his silhouette far more intimidating then he ought to be. Jack snarled, on all fours, diving between threats and battering them aside with his claws and tail, keeping both Hiccup and the Night Fury shielded from arrows and blades. The air hissed with flying bolts, Jack blocked them all, with his wings, his back, his armor. Hiccup had motioned earlier for him to remain low, on all fours. Better the hunters never realize what he truly was.

The fight was short-lived.

Stoick crashed onto the deck with Skullcrusher like a meteor. Astrid was close behind, Stormfly raining down spines from above. The tide turned swiftly. The hunters were overwhelmed, tangled and subdued, lined up along the hull with hands bound. Stoick shoved one man to the boards with a heavy palm to the face. Eret, son of Eret, still grimacing in protest.

With the battle quieted, Stoick and Astrid began their interrogation. Hiccup glanced over at Jack, eyes narrowed in concern. He gestured discreetly for the hybrid to retreat to the far end of the vessel. He didn’t want the hunters looking at him too closely.

Jack obeyed, dragging himself on all fours toward the stern, shoulder throbbing, vision swimming. His breath came ragged and sharp. Each movement was labored, his armor felt heavier than it should, his core twisting with pain. Hiccup joined him a moment later, easing down beside him with a long sigh.

“Well, that was something,” he murmured, rubbing at the back of his head.

Jack let out a shallow huff in reply.

Hiccup turned to him, guilt creasing his features. “Look, Jack… I owe you an apolo—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Jack had collapsed.

He lay flat on the deck, back heaving in desperate rhythm. Hiccup leaned forward, alarmed. “You’re that tired, huh?” he asked, voice softer, uncertain. Jack didn’t respond.

Toothless had noticed too. The dragon walked over, nose prodding Jack gently. He sniffed, then recoiled slightly, snarling low in his throat.

“What is it, bud?” Hiccup asked.

Toothless growled again and nudged Jack more firmly. His claws scraped the boards, flipping the boy over.

Hiccup’s blood went cold.

There, just beneath the seam where dragon scales gave way to human flesh, an arrow protruded from Jack’s abdomen. It had pierced the armor, a Nadder scale punctured. A sickly green clung to the shaft’s fletching.

“Jack…” Hiccup breathed, his voice caught.

He scrambled forward, hands flying to the wound. He pressed hard against the leather, earning a groan of pain from Jack.

“Oh no no no…”

Hiccup’s mind spun. If the arrow had struck a human, he was supposed to leave it in. If dragon root poisoned a dragon, remove it immediately, lest the venom spread. But Jack?

What was Jack?

He shook off the panic and unfastened the boy’s helmet. Pale white hair spilled across his lap as Jack’s face twisted in pain, eyes half-lidded, breath catching.

Hiccup cradled his head, mind racing. He called out for Snotlout.

Hookfang landed within moments.

The Monstrous Nightmare sniffed Jack, then growled, a deep warble of concern in his chest. Without waiting for instruction, Hookfang lowered himself and let Hiccup place Jacksnugly in his claws. He rose into the sky, wings beating urgently.

The others followed behind.

Stoick lingered for only a moment, nodding solemnly to his son.

“Should take a day or two for this ice to thaw,” he said gruffly. “By the time they get back, we can prepare Berk.”

Hiccup opened his mouth to reply, but a voice stopped him.

It came from the deck, one voice rising above the rest.

“You will never hold onto those dragons, do you hear me? DRAGO IS COMING FOR THEM ALL!”

Every fiber in Hiccup went rigid, he was afraid for toothless, for Jack.

He turned to his father, seeking some sign of calm.

But Stoick’s face was pale. Eyes wide.

Terror. Pure and unmistakable.

Notes:

Welp, unm tell me what u think? I have a cronic problem of making jack suffer. I apologize (not).

Chapter 7: Hybrids in flight may be more emotional then they appear.

Summary:

Hybrids in flight may be more emotional then they appear

Chapter 7

Notes:

Built different, still tired.

The flight back to Dragon’s Edge stretched long across the sky, tension trailing with each wingbeat. It took most of the daylight. Hookfang soared heavily with the weight of his wounded passenger, Jack limp in his claws. The riders flanked him in shifts, flying level with injured, voices raw from calling his name and coaxing any sign of wakefulness. But the hybrid remained unmoving, his pale hair fluttering in the wind.

Stoick flew behind them, the wind biting at his face, his thoughts even more unforgiving. He had seen Jack’s fury, the claws, the slitted pupils, the brutal power born from panic, and judged it unfit for Berk. Dangerous. Unpredictable. A creature. But now, Drago Bludvist loomed like a shadow over the horizon, and Stoick’s world teetered on the edge of war. Hiccup and the others had stayed away for months, refusing to return without Jack. Stoick had thought them foolish. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He stole a glance at the still form, chest tight with doubt. If not for it-Jack if not for the ferocity and devotion, Stoick, his son, and the finest riders of Berk would have marched straight into Drago’s death trap. Berk would have fallen. The creature-no, Jack, had disobeyed orders, risked everything, and tore through enemy ships with the wrath of wonter. Even injured and breathless, he had turned back toward danger not willing to leave anyone behind.

The decision had carved itself into Stoick’s heart: if Jack survived this, he would be welcomed back to Berk. Should have been, long ago.

Yet unease clung to him. Jack was not like any man Stoick had known. He moved like a dragon, lithe and raw, walking on all fours and shredding soldiers as though they were straw. But when he reached Hiccup, when the chaos broke around him, the cold in his eyes softened into something unmistakably human. Worry. Pain. Love.

Stoick could not deny the truth that was right in front of him. This hybrid was formidable, unlike anything the chieftain had ever seen. He had destroyed half a dozen ships alone, frozen entire stretches of sea in a heartbeat. Keeping him close meant keeping him contained. But more than that, it meant keeping Berk safe. Better option to treat him as an ally then angering him.

They landed at Dragon’s Edge just before nightfall, the sun bleeding into the sea. Gobber and Grump were halfway through hauling baskets of fish when the bloodied party swept in. The older blacksmith saw the urgency at once. Without hesitation, he converted the stables into a makeshift healing hall, throwing straw to the floor and calling for salves and bandages. Dragons limped in, eyes dim. Riders followed, bloodied and broken. In the center of it all lay Jack, still unmoving.

 

Stoick had always considered Jack to be a creature just barely more sentient than the beasts he rode into battle. He was unpredictable, distant, with eyes too sharp for comfort and a presence that reeked of wildness. He had scales, wings, teeth—not a man, not a dragon, but something else entirely. Something unnatural.

Yet here he was, again, bleeding for their sake.

The room hummed with tension as Astrid and Hiccup unstrapped the armor from Jack’s limp form. The arrow had pierced near the hip, cruel shaft glinting with traces of dragon root and blood, Hiccup, fumbling with his blade, earned a sharp groan from Jack as the tip jerked accidentally.

“Sorry—sorry,” he stammered, eyes wide.

Gobber pushed past them, muttering curses and sarcasm in equal measure. “How many times I have to patch this poor lad up?” he grumbled, crouching over the wound. His brows lifted at the angle of the embedded arrow. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, swiping away blood to expose the scale-freckled entry point. Astrid and Hiccup froze, breath caught, before Gobber snorted. “Bit dramatic, you two.” With a swift yank and a pained groan from Jack, the arrow was removed.

“Shallow as a splinter, this. I’d worry more about the bruise on his shoulder. Would’ve been dandy if you got to it earlier,” he said, pressing a drenched cloth to the wound with practiced hands. “Give him an hour or so to shake off the dragon root effects, he’ll be growling again by supper.”

Relief broke through the room. Stoick stepped forward, his voice commanding but softened. “Should be enough time to ready ourselves for Berk.” The air grew still. Hiccup opened his mouth, but Stoick raised a hand. “Along with Jack, of course.” The smile beneath his beard was subtle, but real.

The mood shifted. Gobber clapped his hands. “Aye, anyone not needing patchin’ up, go get yerselves ready! Everyone with boo-boos, form a line!” Stoick moved to sit, exhaustion tugging at his shoulders, but Gobber barked, “No you don’t! Make yourself useful, ya great lump. Me and Jack are busy, go feed his babies. Grump knows the way.”

Stoick blinked. “The babies?”

Gobber didn’t even turn around. “Don’t look at me like that. Get a move on!”

Still reeling, Stoick stumbled out into the fresh air. He hefted the basket filled with glistening fish, glanced at Grump, now lugging two more baskets clipped to his flanks, and wordlessly followed as the round-bellied dragon waddled down the winding path.

His mind was reeling.

The Babies.

He forgot about Jack’s offspring.

For all his years in battle, for all his experience leading a tribe and fathering a son, nothing in Stoick’s life had prepared him for the possibility that a dragon hybrid existed let alone procreated.

Had he laid eggs?

Did hybrids hatch or born? Did they start out as hybrids or slowly transition through some toddler phase, breathing frost and biting legs?

Did they speak?

Stoick envisioned tiny creatures with Jack’s glacier-blue eyes and mischievous grin, crawling up walls or flying in circles around the great hall. One had a tail. Another had claws. Were those human fingers? A tuft of white hair?

He frowned. Were they even babies? What if they were already toddlers? Would Jack enroll them in dragon school or human one? Did he discipline them with ice or with grounding?

Were they immortal? Would they use utensils? Did they shed scales?

The thoughts came faster than he could stop them, forming questions too absurd to voice. By the time Grump came to a halt outside the hut where Jack’s supposed children nested, Stoick looked a few shades greener.

Grump gave a grunt and thudded a tail against the door. The dragons inside yipped with excitement. Normal dragons. Playful, small, if not an unusual amount of legs but other then that, utterly ordinary.

Stoick gawked.

They weren’t hybrids.

They were just… babies. Regular babies. With wings and scales with no likeness for Jack, who probably had adopted them like one might adopt a litter of orphaned kittens. Huh. He’s gonna kill Gobber.

 

Jack drifted into wakefulness, slow, light, and aching all over. His body protested every twitch, but it was the voice that pulled him back. That voice, too familiar, too earnest to ignore.

He opened his eyes, and the first thing they focused on was Hiccup.

The young viking was crouched low beside him, hands cradling Jack’s head gently. His brow was drawn tight, eyes flicking anxiously across Jack’s face. His lips moved, the sound a muffled hum until Jack’s ears finally cleared the fog.

“…Jack? Can you hear me?”

Jack blinked once. The way Hiccup was holding him, the fingers threading absently through his hair, it sent warmth through his cold, scale-patched skin. He gave a tired grin.

“You-rr suid.”

Hiccup paused, expression blank. “What?”

Before he could think about it, a white tailfin shot out from nearby with impeccable timing and thwacked Hiccup clean on the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“You’re stupid,” Jack said with smug delight, lips curling wider, “goin’ wi’thout me.”

Hiccup let out a sheepish laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.” Without hesitation, he leaned down and wrapped Jack into a careful hug.

“Ow,” Jack winced, his shoulder still sore beneath the pressure.

“Sorry,” Hiccup said quickly, pulling back. He sat beside him, eyes scanning Jack as if trying to catalog every scratch, every bruise. “Can you stand?”

Jack gave a half-hearted nod. Hiccup reached for his hands, those strange, slender fingers tipped with frosted talons and helped guide him up with gentle support. Jack moved slowly, his wings twitching slightly with the effort.

Then, softly, he reached out. His hand found Hiccup’s face, brushing cool against the bruise across his chin. Hiccup closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into the touch.

“Are you okay to move?” Hiccup said finally, voice quiet. “We’re heading to Berk.”

Jack’s hand retreated instantly.

But before he could fully pull away, Hiccup caught his arm, clasping both hands around it. “With you,” he said. “And the babies. You’ll stay with me and my dad until we figure out something more permanent.”

That stilled him.

Fishlegs wandered by, saddle bags stacked high and grinning wide. “You definitely made an impression on the chief,” he said as he passed, his smile more encouraging than teasing.

Jack gave a slow flap of his wings, testing his body. His shoulder ached faintly, and when he glanced down, he noticed a bandage wrapped snug around his waist and thigh. He pressed against it. It stung, but not worse then the scuffs he was used to.

A quick pat-down followed. Chest, arms, legs. Everything intact. One thing missing.

Armor.

Hiccup, ever perceptive, gave a knowing smile. “It’s on the crate,” he said, pointing to the far wall. “Come on, I’ll help.”

He led Jack over, then carefully began the ritual of redressing a warrior. Bit by bit, scales and leather returned to familiar places. The chest cover snapped on. The shoulder guards settled with ease. Hiccup moved to the waist, crouching down again with quiet focus, reaching under sensitive wings.

Jack’s hands hovered awkwardly. He wanted to anchor himself, anywhere. His fingers danced close to Hiccup’s tousled auburn hair, brushed past with a single claw. He hesitated, heart hammering against his ribs in time with the soft tug of leather straps being tightened.

He was just about to touch—

“Am I interrupting something?”

Astrid leaned casually against the stable’s entrance, arms folded, one brow raised with unmistakable mischief.

Jack snapped his hand back so fast he smacked his own wing. A blue blush bloomed across his cheeks.

Astrid’s smirk deepened. “Thought so.”

Jack groaned and buried his face in his hands just as Hiccup was buckling the last strap. His tail curled in up. THIS. IS. THE. WORST. time to get excited.

Curse you, and your timing Astrid.

 

The buckle clicked shut around Jack’s waist with a soft metallic clang. Hiccup leaned back, satisfied with the fit of the hybrid’s armor, unaware of the slow flush creeping across Jack’s cheeks. The dragon-born youth shifted uncomfortably, his tail twitching with a barely contained energy that had nothing to do with battle readiness.

Before his head turned entirely azure, Astrid strode close in salvation.

“Come on, Hiccup! I need you to check Stormfly’s saddle,” she announced brightly, catching Jack’s eye and tossing him a wink just out of Hiccup’s sight.

Hiccup frowned, rising from his crouch. “Astrid, you’re more than capable of handling her sad—”

He never finished. A sharp jab to the arm shut him up, and Astrid hauled him toward the exit by the scruff of his tunic. His boot squealed across the stable floor. “Wait-Astrid! I was in the middle of-”

The heavy stable doors slammed shut, leaving Jack buried in embarrassment. He curled inward, groaning into his palms, exhaling through clenched teeth to calm his nerves. After a long breath and a determined shake of his head, like trying to chase away thoughts he really shouldn’t be entertaining, he adjusted the last panel of his armor. The hastily patched arrow hole along the belly glistened with fresh leather. Jack sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked out.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut barreled past, nearly skewering Jack in the process. Tuffnut had a mop on his head, Ruffnut wore a bucket as a helmet, and both were howling something about “Camouflage Theory #42.”

“Think about it! If we look like buckets… they’ll respect us!”

“Buckets fear no Barf or Belch!”

Jack blinked, silently deciding not to ask.

To his right, Snotlout chased after four scampering Thunderpedes, panting like a bull in midsummer. Hookfang, flapped wildly in confusion on the opposite side, clearly failing at containment. The moment the little Thunderpedes spotted Jack, they surged toward him in a happy tidal wave of clicking feet and wide eyes.

Jack staggered under the joyful ambush but crouched, greeting each tiny creature with a gentle scratch on their horns. Then he let out a low, guttural hum, a sound deep from within, then nodding in a direction .

The Thunderpedes paused… then turned as one and began waddling obediently toward the pass ahead.

Snotlout froze, mouth ajar. “What the - HOW did you just -? I’ve been chasing them for the past hour!”

Jack shrugged, smug.

Snotlout grumbled something unintelligible, but his sidelong glance was filled with something unspoken, relief, admiration, maybe a little awe… that he’d absolutely never admit. After all, the last time he hugged Jack, he claimed it was “a strategic warrior grip” to shield him from danger.

The pair walked together toward the clearing, side by side. Snotlout kept sneaking glances, trying to suppress the grin threatening his rough viking exterior.

Jack chuckled, placing a clawed hand gently on his shoulder. “T-hanks… for the sa-ve.”

Snotlout lit up like a bonfire for a heartbeat before faking a cough and waving it off. “Khmm… yeah, naturally. Anyone with heroic tendencies would’ve done the same. Obviously.”

They reached the field last. Riders were strapping bags to saddles, prepping for flight. Fishlegs had packed an impressive amount of luggage onto Meatlug. Spotting Jack, he rushed forward with a bear hug.

Jack returned it with a warm pat on the back, eyeing the cargo.

“I hope you don’t mind. I brought all the fruit! You can give it to my parents if you want!” Fishlegs exclaimed.

Jack smiled. When Hiccup asked if he wanted to pack anything at all… his mind had been… occupied.

Dragons nudged close to check on him, nuzzling gently. The gang made sure he was steady, armored, and ready. Hiccup stepped in to inspect the final last of his flight suit, when a low rumble rolled in from Skullcrusher.

“Son, we better get going,” Stoick grunted.

Hiccup sighed. “Okay, Dad.”

Jack froze.

“Wa?-DAD?” His voice cracked as he pointed at Stoick with an accusatory claw.

Ruffnut shrieked in laughter. “YOU DIDN’T KNOW HICCUP WAS THE CHIEF’S SON? Ohhh this is so good!”

“Where’ve you been, Jack? That’s like… day one level intel!” Tuffnut wheezed.

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought you knew…”

Astrid gave him a consoling pat as she mounted Stormfly. “You two can talk over lineage in the sky. We’ve got a long flight ahead.”

“Everyone mount up!” Gobber barked from the side, already strapping his leg into the saddle.

And just like that, wings unfurled, boots found stirrups, and the dragon riders took to the skies, laughing, bickering, and soaring toward berk.

 

They flew through the night mostly in silence, only beginning to liven up as morning whispered close. The dragons sailed through the dark, quiet save for the periodic chirps of the young Thunderpedes darting through the air like mischievous fireflies. Their bodies glowed soft orange, dancing in playful arcs around the older dragons.

Jack kept his gaze sharp despite the weight behind his eyes. To busy to hound Hiccup for information. Every time a baby veered off course, he surged forward, herding them back like an older brother, smiling with infinite patience.

He hadn’t realized how drained he was. Not until an hour into the flight, when his breath caught unevenly and he was forced to summon soft gusts of wind just to remain airborne. It was subtle, just enough to push his body further.

The battle with the trappers had taken more out of him than he let on.

Behind him, the riders flew in comfortable silence. Astrid had curled up against Stormfly’s side, trusting her dragon’s instincts as she slipped into a light slumber. Fishlegs, still blinking like he hadn’t quite opened his eyes properly, flicked through dragon cards with sleepy enthusiasm.

The twins… well, they were passing parchment back and forth with no apparent reason.

“I swear on our combined stupidity,” Ruffnut muttered, “that if you peek again I’ll reverse your eyebrows.”

“But that’s the whole point!” Tuffnut wailed, “It’s a game of guessing! I GUESS your drawing! I’m not cheating, I’m deeply intuitive!”

“You’re deeply something,” Ruffnut grumbled.

Snotlout, hunched over Hookfang, appeared to be nodding off, his Viking helmet slipping sideways with each bounce.

It was Astrid who stirred first with the creeping sun. She sat up slowly, stretched long into the morning air, then glanced around to gather her bearings.

One detail stopped her.

Everyone was flapping, Stormfly’s wings beat in rhythm, Meatlug churned like an airborne boulder, even Barf and Belch twisted through their usual uncoordinated routine. But Jack?

His wings weren’t moving.

At all.

She narrowed her eyes. The boy hovered just ahead, arms relaxed, wings outstretched like gliders carved by gods. The Thunderpedes played before him, singing in shrill little notes, their caretaker calm and motionless. Not a single twitch of muscle.

“Hey…” Astrid called softly, furrowing her brow. “Has anyone noticed Jack hasn’t flapped his wings… like, at all?”

Gobber blinked sleepily from behind his saddle pack. “Aye, the lad’s either a genius or a very aerodynamic reptile.”

Hookfang heard first, veering curiously toward the hybrid. Snotlout let out a startled noise as he was jostled.

“Hookfang! Where are you going? Whoa-”

Hookfang aligned himself behind Jack. A gust of shimmering air swirled beneath them. Hookfang warbled, a deep rumble of surprise and abruptly stopped flapping. He glided now, caught effortlessly in Jack’s current.

Snotlout blinked. “There’s a current! I can feel it!”

The twins dove next, tumbling over one another and catching the slipstream like falling into a river. They zipped past Jack laughing, turning to face him mid-flight.

“Jack!” Ruffnut cried. “Why didn’t you tell us you found a shortcut?! That’s so uncool!”

Tuffnut pouted, “Dude. We could’ve gotten to Berk like twelve days ago at this rate!”

But Jack didn’t respond.

He didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch. His head was dipped toward the sea below, silver strands of hair fluttering out at the neck of his helmet which shadowed his expression.

Ruffnut squinted suspiciously. “He’s too quiet,” she muttered.

“I agree. I require dialogue,” said Tuffnut solemnly.

They slowed, dipping below Jack like a pair of stealthy bats. Tuffnut angled his face up and nudged Ruffnut, turning her head gently with his thumb and forefinger.

“Is he?” Ruffnut whispered.

“He totally is,” Tuffnut replied with the seriousness of someone who just discovered treasure.

Jack was… asleep. Mid-air. Mid-flight. Totally unconscious.

The current held him up like a cradle. His wings hadn’t faltered because he’d locked them into a in a gentle form probably from exhaustion and instinct. The current seemed to circle his body like mist, holding him and the young dragons aloft, maintaining the path even as his mind wandered into dream. It was like magic.

Ruffnut blinked. “You think he’s creating wind in his sleep on purpose?”

Tuffnut snorted. “I can’t even breathe in my sleep without choking on my braid.”

“Same.”

Above them, the drama continued. Hiccup and Stoick were still arguing, voices muffled but tense.

“It’s not just about Berk, Dad!” Hiccup snapped. “We have to care about peace. We shouldn’t aim for war!”

Stoick’s voice was firm, unwavering. “Peace is not what he wants sun, we can’t avoid war with a madman who craves it.”

They hadn’t noticed Jack’s slumber or the odd formation developing behind him. In truth, none of the adults had suspected anything. Not yet.

But the riders, Jack’s friends, misfits, rivals, and prank partners, flew steady in his wake, basking in the magical wind of a boy too tired to speak, too kind to rest, and too powerful to fall.

 

The skies stretched clear and endless over the flight path to Berk, one day of airborne travel and one day still before them. They formed a strange line in the sky, behind Jack, who gliding with an unusual stillness.

Fatigue pulled at his limbs, he summoned currents from the upper winds, silent whirlings of air that wrapped around him like threads, bearing his weight where his own wings no longer could. When the other discovered the strange current, they had fallen in line behind him.

None questioned it.

To them, it was serendipity, an invisible channel that made the flight feel effortless. Only the twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, exchanged glances, their suspicions swirling in their minds. Stoick and Hiccup, trailing off to the side in their own bubble of loud debate, noticed none of it.

Hours passed. Am island came into view, jagged like a shark’s fin against the horizon. It marked the point where they’d need to veer west toward Berk. Astrid narrowed her eyes at the silhouette, then glanced up at the barely stirring Jack.

He hadn’t shifted in hours.

“We’re changing course soon,” she said, almost to herself. “I better wake him.”

“Aww,” Tuffnut called from the line behind her. “I wanted to see how far he’d go before nosediving into the sea!”

Ruffnut snorted. “It’s impressive. Not even losing altitude. He’s like a sleepy cloud snake.”

Astrid guided Stormfly gently out of the wind tunnel. Her dragon groaned in protest, wings beating harder to compensate for the sudden loss of lift. She angled down beneath Jack, the shimmering hybrid barely fluttering as he slept mid-glide.

She hesitated. The tremble in his wings… it was constant, rhythmic, not unconscious twitching but a sign of strain. He’d been flying for hours, and before that, fighting for them. Searching, alone, desperate. She felt responsible for the way they parted in anger and misunderstanding. And not one of them had suggested rest for jack before they lifted off. Not one.

She rose carefully on Stormfly’s back, reached upward, and pressed a hand to Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack,” she called softly.

The moment her hand made contact, her stomach sank.

She had forgotten, the bruise. The dark blotch at the joint she’d glimpsed briefly when they were in the stables. Her touch was light, but pain had no threshold here.

Jack spasmed violently.

His eyes snapped open, pupils like panicked slits in a sea of pale blue, and a sharp cry tore from his throat. One wing dipped, catching rough air; his tail lashed uncontrollably and clipped Stormfly’s side, knocking Astrid into open sky.

She gasped, steadying herself mid-fall, years of training kicking in. Below, water gleamed, but she wasn’t worried. Stormfly could catch her at much shorter distances.

She hadn’t expected to be caught in a fraction of a second tho.

Arms, scaled and sure, wrapped around her waist. She blinked up into Jack’s face, tired, tense, and mortified.

Stormfly still diving, screeching her outrage as Jack glided toward her and gently dropped Astrid back into her saddle.

“S-Sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the wind.

Astrid nodded, clutching Stormfly’s reins, heart pounding, not from the fall, but from the weight of guilt settling over her.

 

Gobber had officially heard enough.

The sharp, rhythmic squabble between Stoick and his wildly gesturing son echoed through the sky like two thunderclouds refusing to budge. Their voices clashed, one baritone and gruff, the other laced with exasperated idealism. Gobber let out a long-suffering sigh and turned Grump away from the parental debate.

He expected the usual aerial tomfoolery, shouting, spinning, some new variation of twin-induced mayhem. But what he saw made his one good eye squint in disbelief.

A line.

A perfect, straight line of dragon riders stretched across the sky like a parade, no dips, no sputters, no reckless flips from the twins. They glided smooth and silent behind a single lead: Jack.

“What in Odin’s left boot are you lot doing?” Gobber barked, steering Grump closer.

Fishlegs turned, beaming. “Jack found a wind tunnel! We’re all gliding with it!”

“Yeah, it’s like… a sky buffet of laziness,” Tuffnut added, arms spread wide. “No flapping, no fuss! Just… vibe and float!”

“We’re basically royalty now,” Ruffnut chimed in. “Flying on magical air like spoiled aristocrats.”

Gobber rolled his eyes so hard it could’ve powered a windmill, but curiosity tugged at him. He nudged Grump behind the twins and gasped as the gust caught them, strong, steady, almost unnatural. Grump groaned with pleasure, settling into a weightless drift.

“By Thor’s beard,” Gobber muttered. “It’s like flying through cold mead foam.”

The twins laughed. Ruffnut tossed a grin back at him. “Welcome to the breeze train, Captain Grump.”

For over an hour they drifted like feathers on the wind, while Stoick and Hiccup continued their airborne bickering to the side. Gobber kept half an ear on the argument, the other tuned to the uncanny quietude of the rider line.

Then the landmark appeared, a stone toothed island in the distance. Astrid frowned, signaling the shift.

“I should wake Jack,” she said.

Gobber blinked. Wake him?

He peered up at the hybrid. Jack hadn’t flinched, hadn’t tilted, hadn’t even adjusted course.

He was dead still.

Astrid slid from the stream, Stormfly flapping harder now, and floated up beneath Jack. Her hand reached, poised to be gentle. And then—

Mayhem.

Jack jerked awake with the intensity of a lightning strike. His tail thrashed violently, and Astrid was thrown from Stormfly with a yelp. The wind tunnel ruptured like a popped sail.

Panicked screeches cut the sky.

Hookfang spiraled sideways, yelping.

Meatlug dipped dangerously, Fishlegs gripping tight.

The Thunderpedes began flailing mid-air, knocking into each other with high-pitched squeals. Their tiny wings weren’t strong enough on their own, and they spiraled until Hookfang and Meatlug rushed to brace them, Fishlegs barking commands like a battlefield general.

Stormfly cried she dove for her rider. Jack caught Astrid mid-drop, wings snapping wide. She landed back in her saddle with a confused thud, murmuring thanks between gasps.

And just like that, the wind was gone.

One moment they’d been gliding like sky like paper cranes, the next, they were back to flapping and wobbling in their usual chaotic scatter of flight. Gobber felt the absence like a punch to the gut.

“What in Freya’s name…” he breathed. “Did the wind just vanish?”

Fishlegs floated closer, puffing. “Jack… can you actually control the winds?”

“I always thought he just… sensed them,” he added sheepishly.

“Oh, he can control them,” Snotlout declared with a smug grin. “This guy summons snow like it’s salt on his breakfast. What did you think was happening?”

Tuffnut leaned toward Ruffnut. “He’s gotta be some kind of Nordic storm god offspring.”

“Totally,” Ruffnut nodded. “Jack, Son of Hodr!”

Silence fell.

The kind of silence that trembled in the chest,, wide-eyed stares drifting toward the hybrid now hovering uneasily, wings tilted, expression unreadable.

It can’t be true, can it?

The wind had been summoned. Not sensed. Not borrowed. Not luck.

Jack or Frost, half-dragon and half-human, had bent the sky to his will, when none of his halves should be able to do that.

Gobber glanced at Stoick, who had finally gone silent, hovering nearby with mouth slightly agape.

“By the Allfather…” he muttered.

Jack looked down at them, eyes full of hesitation, wings curling slightly inward. The breeze circled his form again, faint and silver.

Not summoned this time.

Responding.

 

Astrid’s voice cut through the humming wingbeats like an arrow.
“What I think Jack is… is exhausted,” she said with no room for argument. Her eyes narrowed toward the familiar rocky isle below. “We’ll rest there. Continue tomorrow.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, voice rough and hollow.
“I can—”
“No, no you can’t, Jack,” Astrid said firmly, raising a hand. “You’ve been asleep in the sky for hours. Your wings need rest just as much as you do. And the little ones? They’ve never flown this far.”

Her glare swept across the others, daring anyone to challenge her judgment. They did not. One by one, dragons began descending.

The juveniles squealed with delight, tumbling toward the island like falling stars. The older riders hovered briefly, casting uneasy glances at Jack. Hiccup felt the weight of his own guilt press against his ribs. He’d been too consumed by the friction with his dad to notice Jack, to see how truly worn down he was.

“Ruff, Tuff, grab some fish with Barf and Belch, yeah?” Hiccup muttered, patting Toothless before following the others downward.

The isle was small, no more than a grassy clearing framed by windswept trees, but enough to rest. Hiccup dismounted and stepped into the glade, nearly chuckled at the sight. Astrid was scolding Jack, who stood at its center, wings and ears drooping, helmet tucked under his arm, looking every inch like a lost pup.

“You have to tell us when you’re tired,” Astrid snapped.

“I’m no-t,” Jack replied, swaying on his feet.

“Sure you aren’t. Sit down for me, would you?”

With a groan of reluctance, Jack slumped down, half seated, half folded, onto a bed of moss Astrid may or may not have subtly nudged him toward. He crossed his arms with effort, brow furrowed in a parody of defiance. The dragons didn’t buy it. One by one, the juveniles nudged and nuzzled him until he was buried beneath warm scales and wings, breath slowing, expression softening.

By the time the twins returned with their haul, the sun had dipped into late afternoon. Jack lay surrounded by tiny snores and dissipating frost, asleep in an instant.

Hiccup pulled a fur from his pack, intending to drape it over Jack. But Stoick’s steps halted him.

“Son, we need to talk,” Stoick said, voice low.

“I think it’s clear we’re not getting anywhere with this,” Hiccup muttered, motioning for silence. They walked together toward Jack.

“You’re going to be chief one day,” Stoick said quietly. “And a chief protects his own.”

At the edge of the clearing, Hiccup crouched beside Jack, placing the fur over the boy with care. He ran a hand through Jack’s icy hair, watching him settle at the touch. But as his fingers brushed lower, Hiccup’s expression shifted. The angry purple bruise at Jack’s nape darkened his eyes.

Low and seething, he spoke.

“Whether you like it or not, Dad… Jack is one of my own. And this?” He gestured at the mark. “This is not protection.”

Stoick flinched, silence dragging the moment long. Jack slept on, small now, curled into himself, the marks on his skin stark against the pale of his body. And Stoick, for the first time, saw the boy in the dragon, the fear beneath the fury.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hiccup said, turning away. “Right now, I just can’t .”

Stoick remained standing, looking down at Jack. The boy he had feared. The boy he had harmed. Didn’t look much like s threat now, he looked frail, scared and cold.

 

The wind had stilled, leaving only the soft rustle of embers and dragon breath by the fire. Stoick took a few steps back toward the camp with a heaviness in his gait, something bone-deep. He paused before leaving the slumbering hybrid, hesitating, then slipped the thick fur cloak from his shoulders and draped it gently over the boy.

His ever present shivers quieted.

Beside the hearth, the flicker of flames danced over fish roasting on spit and fur bundles spread across the grass. Gobber settled in against his dragon’s flank, the hotburple snorting gently behind him. Stoick joined him with a grunt, taking his place in silence.

Gobber, naturally, did not.

“From what I heard,” he said, voice low and simmering, “that boy saved your son’s life. Twice. Astrid came at him like you did, with an axe. Now she’s the one fussing over him like a mother yak.”

Stoick’s lips parted. “Look, I—”

“You think Hiccup’s soft. Naive. But when’s Astrid ever been wrong about someone?” Gobber leaned forward, eyes like flashing with determination. “If she trusts him, why shouldn’t we?”

“Gobber—”

“Not a bad bone in him! For Odin’s sake, the lad ripped trapper ships apart with a breath. The way you barged into him? He could’ve frozen your arm off and he would have been right to do so.>

Stoick exhaled sharply, trying again. “Just listen—”

“Splitting your head on that rock as a child might’ve done more damage than I thought. If I ask you to use your skull and you’ll just knock him out with it.”

“GOBBER!” Stoick snapped, then deflated. “I was wrong. I know that.”

Gobber’s jaw dropped.

“Paint me purple. Stoick the Vast just admitted fault! And it didn’t take a Red Death to get him there!”

Stoick allowed himself a small smile. “Very funny.”

Gobber’s voice softened with conviction.

“Say it to the boy, not to me. He’s terrified of you. Hiccup asked him to stay with ya until his hut’s built. Bet the poor lad’s heart froze when he learned you were his father.”

Stoick nodded and stood, guilt flickering in his eyes. But Gobber’s hook yanked him back down.

“Tomorrow. If you wake him now, I’ll personally lodge this hook somewhere the gods never intended to reach.”

Stoick looked suitably horrified… then broke into laughter. The fire popped and hissed as they settled for the night. Berk’s riders gathered around the warmth, tucking themselves in sheepskins and yak-fur. The camp was soon filled with viking and dragon snores.

 

Dawn rolled across sea with a golden yawn. Dragons stretched their wings, shaking off dew. Riders packed their gear lazily, careful not to disturb the quiet, preserving Jack’s rest like it was sacred.

But when time came, they all glanced toward Hiccup.

Pushed him forward like a lamb for slaughter.

He rolled his eyes, bemused. Then hesitated, he realized he never once woke jack up, he had never slept this late. Not once. Even after Snoggletog. He was always up before the viking.

Hiccup crouched, careful not to startle him. The boy lay bundled in fur, frost-dusted hair sprawling all over. Hiccup reached out, touching his temple gently.

“Jack… Jack, it’s time to wake up.”

The hybrid grumbled, brushing the hand aside with clawed fingers. His voice, cristal clear, human, broke through:

“Mom… just five more minutes.”

Hiccup blinked. For a second he laughed. Then his heart twisted.

So… he had a mother.

“Come on, Jack, we’ve gotta go.”

Jack murmured, “Tell Mae it’s too early for skating…”

The name clung to Hiccup’s thoughts like hoarfrost to bark. He raked gentle fingers through Jack’s hair again, coaxing softly.

Eyes blinked open. Frostblue. Dazed. He searched Hiccup’s face.

“Mae?”

Hiccup tilted his head. “Jack… who’s Mae?”

Jack blinked again. The light returned to his eyes, and confusion settled.

“Huh?” He sat up slowly, hair wild, wiping sleep from his face. “H-cupp?”

His voice had returned to its broken cadence, like shards of ice trying to become words. Present, but cracked.

Hiccup sighed, his heart tugging with quiet hope.

“Morning, Frostbite. We’re ready to fly. You up for it?”

Jack nodded, stretching wide, bones crackling like branches in a storm. A grin curled across his face as he picked up his helmet.

He stood, exchanging smiles with the riders. Hiccup handed the fur cloak back to Stoick, their eyes meeting with silent forgiveness.

Astrid started the takeoff. Wings unfurled. Dragons roared.

And with renewed strength, they soared toward Berk. They will be home soon.

 

Jack should have been relaxed.

The skies were crisp, the babies were chirping, tail-flicking, and relentlessly bothering every dragon with a breath still left in them. First Toothless, then Stormfly, now Barf and Belch, the Zippleback, seemed to match the energy of the juveniles and didn’t seem too mad about it. The little thunderedens practically played tag across their backs.

Jack, meanwhile, floated freely. Upside down. Sideways. Occasionally drifting along Toothless’s wing like some kind of languid frost sprite. But despite the stretch of wind and the lull of warmth… something lurked in the corner of his eye.

Stoick.

The chief of Berk. Stoick the intimidating, Stoick the Vast, Stoick the I-can-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands, and currently: Stoick the Persistent.

No matter where Jack flitted, left wing, rear formation, even briefly ducking below the flying flock, there he was. Stoick. Hovering behind like some brooding thundercloud.

Jack’s eyes widened as he caught sight of him again, this time descending gently like some nightmare steam-powered iceberg. He screeched internally.

And little externally.

He shot upward with a blast of cold, zooming past Hiccup, Gobber, and half the fleet like an arrow on the run.

 

“Reckon we should save him?” Gobber asked, leisurely turning to Hiccup.

Hiccup rubbed his temples. “This is definitely not how you deliver an apology.”

Astrid swung in with practiced grace. “Should we intervene?”

The twins flew past, completely buried under four dragon babies mid-wrestling match. Tuffnut had a tail in his mouth. Ruffnut was trying to use a wing as a scarf.

“Give it a minute,” Ruffnut cackled. “This is hilarious.”

Snotlout snorted. “Is he… being hunted?”

Fishlegs blinked at the zig-zagging frost trail overhead. “Technically yes, but it’s like… emotionally hunted? Skullcrusher is the only one he can’t hide from.”

The riders collectively watched the chief of Berk, great and grim Stoick, attempting to shadow-glide in the least threatening manner humanly possible, and failing. Skullcrusher panted from the effort of keeping up with Jack’s speedy evasions.

At one point, Jack did a full corkscrew mid-air just to dodge Stoick’s line of sight.

At another, Stoick waved.

Jack screeched.

 

Gobber grimaced. “Alright. It hurts to watch. I’m going in.”

He eased Grump between Jack and the looming paternal iceberg. “Stoick, I don’t think chasing the lad like some brooding mountain spirit is the best method of de-terrifying him.”

“I just wanna talk to the boy,” Stoick said, gruff but deflated. Skullcrusher wheezed dramatically.

Gobber raised a brow. “Talkin’ is different from followin’ his tail like some lovesick duck.”

The chief sighed.

Gobber nodded once. “Let me take this one.”

He hovered up beside Jack, who gave him the side-eye of someone expecting either discipline or an attack.

“Can I chat with ya a sec?” Gobber asked. Jack slowed so Grump could keep pace.

Jack glanced down at Stoick, then back, eyes narrowing. Uneasy.

“Don’t worry lad. I ain’t lettin’ him near ya. I do actually want to ask somethin’.”

Jack perked up, curious.

“I know Hiccup said you could stay with him and Stoick.” At the mention of the chief’s name, Jack visibly flinched. Gobber laughed.

“Aye, that’s exactly my point. Now, I know you don’t exactly know me. Most times I saw ya, you were either unconscious, flyin’, or hissing at the chief. Which I respect, mind you. But…”

Jack tilted his head. Gobber took that as a sign to continue.

“The chief’s house? Busy. Loud. People barging in with leaky roofs and goat problems. Me own place? I don’t got no kids. Just me. Grump. Forge next door. Where Hiccup works. Saddles. Wings. Yappin’. Plenty of space for you and yer wee dragons.”

Jack snorted,an honest, breathy snort. Gobber grinned.

“Just an offer, lad. Don’t gotta take it.”

The hybrid froze for half a heartbeat… then tackled Gobber mid-flight. Arms full of gratitude. Grump grunted with the mild surprise of a dragon who’s decided he’s not paid enough for this kind of drama but didn’t lift a claw to interfere.

Gobber shrieked as they plummeted together.

“YES YES YES” he heard jack shout over the wind.

I’m happy for ya but uh—when yer done celebratin’, would ya mind not lettin’ us crash into the sea? I’m too handsome to die!”

Jack laughed. A real, draconic, rasp-touched laugh.

Wings spread, tail arced,they veered up effortlessly, leveling out with the rest of the riders who now hovered, amused and utterly confused.

 

For the next stretch, Gobber flew beside Jack. They talked housing arrangements, feeding schedules, how they babies cam overhear. Jack, surprisingly even included Grump in the conversation, as if asking the dragon’s opinion on changes made in his home.

Gobber gave his dragon a fond pat. “Yes, this’ll work out nicely…”

Then his voice lowered just enough.

“Speakin’ of the chief… you have noticed he’s trailing ya like a remora on a thunderdrum, right?”

Jack’s ears flattened. He nodded—barely.

“He’s scary,” Jack said carefully, unsure if Gobber would take offense. But Gobber howled.

“Aye, terrifying. Like a bear on stilts. But son. He’s followin’ ya cause he wants to apologize.”

Jack jolted mid-flight, nearly losing altitude.

“Stubborn like a yak with its horns in a tree stump. Hot-headed. Protective. But he’s not all bad.”

Silence. Jack drifted, thinking.

Gobber continued, voice softer now.

“He won’t lay a hand on ya. And if he tried it—he’d be flying to Valhalla with a Gobber-size dent in his helmet. How’s that sound?”

Jack gave a quiet nod. Frost trailing in his wake.

“Okay.”

Gobber smiled. “Good lad.”

With that Grump dipped his wings, peeling off from the Jack. As he passed Stoick, he gave a firm nod, a signal, permission. A bridge-builder’s final stone laid.

Stoick exhaled through his beard, eyes narrowed. Skullcrusher groaned beneath him. With careful restraint, Stoick guided his dragon toward the drifting silhouette ahead.

Jack glided through the clouds. His posture was loose, but Stoick noticed the faint tension in his back, the stiffness of someone who knew they were being followed. The helmet Jack wore, shielded his expression, but not the coil of unease vibrating through his limbs.

Stoick edged closer.

Jack braced.

For what? He didn’t know. But he knew Stoick’s track record, and his bruised neck still hurting every time he swallowed.

Skullcrusher matched pace beside Jack, the rhythm slow and solemn.

The Chief of Berk cleared his throat. Loud. Awkward. More rockslide than whisper.

“Ahem. Look… Jack. I’m not one for sugarcoating, so I’ll get to the point.”

Jack didn’t look at him.

Stoick continued, voice gruff but quieter than usual. “I misjudged you. Shunned you, because I assumed you were dangerous… acted like you weren’t just a boy trying to help. That wasn’t right. Not in my book, and sure as Odin not in my son’s.”

Still no response. But the twitching of the boy’s tail eased.

“I lost my temper when I couldn’t find Hiccup. Took it out on you.” Stoick’s voice broke, just slightly. “The bruises, you didn’t deserve that.”

The clouds swirled softly around them.

“You saved my boy. Twice,” Stoick grunted. “Saved the riders. Saved me. That ain’t something I’ll forget.”

Silence.

For a long, grueling second, nothing moved. Just the whisper of wings and breath in the cold. Then Stoick pulled Skullcrusher slightly back, sighing heavily, ready to drift away, ready to respect Jack’s lack of responce.

Thwack.

A snowball smacked against the back of his head, pieces of snow drifting down under his collar.

He turned, stunned.

Jack hovered, helmet tilted. Then he reached up slowly, pushed the fake jaw up just enough to show a single smirk and flicked his tongue out at the Chief.

Without a word, he wheeled around and soared ahead, trailing snowflakes in his wake

Stoick sat frozen for a moment. Then rumbled a low chuckle before flying back to the group.

 

The tension over Berk was thick as smoke, curling in the air between rooftops and roosts. Jack’s wings rustled uneasily as they descended, the hybrid keeping his posture light, but his heart hammered like war drums in his chest. The flight from the Edge to Berk had been uneventful, but every glance from Stoick still felt like an axe about to drop. Not directed at him at least.

They landed in the main square with the heavy grace of warriors returning from an unknown front. Riders slid off saddles, stretching sore muscles and catching breath. Jack touched down last, claws skimming the cobblestone with a hiss as his ice spread over stone. He folded his wings tight to his back, tail flicking once before stilled.

Stoick was already stomping toward the dragon pens, a hulking mass of command. Hiccup and the others followed, questions building but not yet voiced.

The Chief pivoted sharply to face Jack. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be safe here along with the others.”

Jack raised a brow beneath his helm, safe, huh? He’d reserve judgment.

Stoick turned back toward the workers, voice booming.

“GROUND ALL DRAGONS!”

Jack flinched at the sudden bark. Around him, dragons whined and shifted, riders stiffening mid-motion.

“What?” Hiccup breathed, stunned.

Jack looked left, right, tail sweeping low like a ready whip. Confusion settled on the group, not just him. Okay…

“SEAL THE GATES!” Stoick roared, pointing toward the port teams. Workers broke into motion, clanking mechanisms and unrolling chains.

“LOWER THE STORM DOORS!” His boots thundered down the stone steps toward the smaller access tunnels.

“Whoa—wait, wait—what’s happening?” Hiccup hurried to catch up, voice strained and urgent.

Stoick didn’t pause.

“No dragon or Viking sets foot off this island until I give the word.”

Jack let out a soft scoff, sidling up to Snotlout with a smirk. “Good thin-g I’m nei-ther.”

Snotlout nearly bit his tongue trying not to laugh, wheezing behind a clenched fist.

Hiccup managed to get ahead, finally forcing confrontation. “Wait…because some guy you knew is stirring up trouble in some far away land?”

Stoick didn’t blink. “Because Drago Bludvist is a madman. Without conscience or mercy. And if he’s built a dragon army…” His voice dropped, grave and brimming with dread. “Gods help us all.”

Jack felt a shiver run down his spine, unrelated to his powers.

“GET THEM INTO THE PENS. Quickly!” Stoick barked to nearby handlers.

Hiccup tried diplomacy’s last thread. “Then let’s ride back out there. We’ll follow those trappers to Drago and talk some sense into him.”

“No!” Stoick growled, stomping forward. “We fortify the island.”

Doors slammed. Gates rattled shut. Berk was becoming a cage.

Jack’s claws flexed nervously on the stone, wings twitching once. This wasn’t peacekeeping. This was lockdown. And he’s sure as hell not getting locked up.

“It’s our duty to keep the peace!” Hiccup pleaded.

“Peace is over, Hiccup. I must prepare you for war.”

Jack froze. War?

“War?! Dad, if Drago is coming for our dragons, we can’t wait around for him to get here. Let’s go find him and change his mind.”

“Some minds won’t be changed, Hiccup. Berk is what you need to be worried about. A chief protects his own.” Stoick’s eyes flicked to Jack again, nodding.

Jack blinked, furrowing his brow. He turned to the twins. “What-s he noddin-g at me for?”

The twins snickered but didn’t answer.

“SECURE THE STABLES! LOCK EVERY STALL!” The order thundered through the square.

Hiccup stepped forward. Astrid caught his arm. “Hiccup, don’t.”

“I have to,” he said softly, slipping free. The look he gave her was apologetic, but determined.

Jack backed away from the group, crouching low, wings flaring wide in readiness. His tail curled behind him like a coiled spring.

“Jack?” Fishlegs asked, hesitant.

“THIS WAY!” Stoick commanded more handlers, distracted just long enough not to see Hiccup leap onto Toothless.

The black dragon shot skyward, a streak of dark scales whizzed past.

“HICCUP!” Stoick roared, voice cracking across the massive wooden structure.

Jack didn’t hesitate. With a kick off the nearby wall and a flap of wings, he bolted after his friend, slicing through the shrinking gap as storm doors groaned toward closure.

“Come on…” Hiccup grunted as they skimmed through.

Behind them, Stoick’s cry echoed. “HICCUP!”

Astrid slipped past just in time, brows knitted in alarm.

Jack glanced back briefly at the pens and confinement, then forward again into crisp, uncertain freedom.

Now all that remained was to find the trappers…

Notes:

Thank you for readiing loves.

Cue movie 2!

Lemme know what u think!

Chapter 8: Something’s Shipwrecked, Could Be Feelings. (Don’t worry it’s just Eret)

Summary:

Mother.

Notes:

Chapter 8

Something’s Shipwrecked, Could Be Feelings. (Don’t worry it’s just Eret)

Ice cream
You scream
We scream
In the horrible house fire at the family reunion.

A single vessel docked at Dragon’s Edge under a slate-grey sky. Weathered sails flapped against the mast as a man, broad as a bear and brimming with energy, stepped ashore. His heavy boots thudded onto the wood, thick brows furrowed in curiosity. After securing the ropes, he reached a gloved hand back to assist the girl waiting on deck.

Mary took it without hesitation and hopped down to the dock.

“Thank you, Nicholas.”

He gave her a warm nod, the kind that crinkled his eyes with kindness.

Behind them, a man in grey furs skipped any kind of ramp or courtesy and simply leapt from the ship, landing with a solid thump that rattled nearby barrels.

Bunnymund groaned as he touched down. “Finally, solid ground. Thought I’d hurl if that tub rocked one more time.”

North grinned, eyes twinkling. “You whine like a troll with a toothache, comrade.”

“North, mate,” said E. Aster Bunnymund, clearly unimpressed, “You reckon we should’ve announced ourselves? Stronghold full of dragon riders and not one’s popped out yet? Suspicious, yeah?”

They all turned to take in the looming cliffside, wooden Viking architecture clinging to stone like moss. Watchtowers lined the ridges, walkways etched into the rocks, but the perches were empty. No wings filled the sky. No roars echoed down the mountainside.

“Calm yourself, Aster,” North said with cheerful certainty. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.”

“What kind of explanation ends with abandoned outposts?” Aster muttered, kicking the sand.

North clapped him heartily on the back. Aster stumbled forward two paces.

“Let’s look around, eh?”

Aster opened his mouth to protest but caught North’s meaningful glance, then turned toward Mary. She was scanning the cliffs with wide eyes, hope bright and fragile in her gaze.

He sighed. “Fine.”

The truth was, Mary’s request hadn’t waited for spring. She couldn’t. Not if there was a sliver of possibility. North and Sanderson had humored her, kindness behind their smiles. Closure, they said. Closure would help the girl sleep.

But Aster… well, Aster buried the ache behind sarcasm and skepticism. Twelve years since they saw the ice crack open. 2 men fell in, the wrong climbed out. Jack, Jack didn’t.

He gripped his boomerang tighter.

Sanderson had opted to stay with the ship, most likely napping under the sails. The remaining trio trudged forward along the empty beach.

The first building was simple in shape, but rugged in texture, a two-tiered home built half of stone, half of wood. The base appeared to serve as a dragon stable. Aster counted the ground slabs: Space for four dragons, maybe five. Claw marks on the steps confirmed it.

They moved through the wide entrance. A staircase led upward, its steps scored and shredded with long gashes, proof of dragons, proof of life.

“Halloooo? Anyone home?” North called brightly, his voice echoing.

Silence.

He shrugged and started climbing, undeterred. At least the house gave them a faster ascent toward the upper ridges, bypassing the winding trail behind the cliffs.

They entered a large room at the top, a comically oversized bed dominating the space.

Aster blinked. “Someone expects company. Or a dragon, with this setup.”

A smaller room sat off to the side, filled with scattered papers and stones. They avoided it, following the path that led out onto the cliffside trail.

Mary and North walked ahead, voices low and thoughtful. Aster stopped in his tracks, his gaze stuck door they’d just exited. His breath caught.

“You lot gotta see this…” he said, stunned.

North turned, brows raised.

Aster pointed above the entrance. There, nailed crookedly into the wood, a slab of driftwood bore a single word.

Crude, uneven, unmistakable.

Jack.

The first “K” had been carved hastily, crossed over, then recut with more care.

Mary gasped. No one said a word before she darted back inside. Aster and North exchanged a look, then followed with quieter steps.

They found her crouched in the smaller room, surrounded by scattered papers. She sifted through them frantically, until one brought her to a stop.

Her breath hitched. She handed it to North, fingers trembling.

He accepted it gently. Aster leaned in.

My name is Jack. My name is Jack. My name is Jack.

The phrase covered every inch of the parchment.

They dug deeper, more notes, more declarations. “Thank you.” “Help.” “Jack.” The words varied in size, in certainty. Some shakier than others. Some bold.

Mary wiped her cheeks, breathing through the sobs. “Do-do you think he was injured? That’s why he couldn’t come to us?”

Aster stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “We don’t know it’s him for sure.”

North straightened. “HAH! Of course it is him. I feel it! IN MY BELLY!”

Bunnymund rolled his eyes. “Right. Not your heart, not your head, your stomach.”

He turned, spotting something among the clutter,a small carved figure. A bunny. He picked it up, inspected it, flipped it over like habit.

A “J” was etched into its foot.

He froze.

Aster’s voice rose, exasperated. “Then where is the bugger? Why is this place so bloody empty?”

North beamed. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

The afternoon passed in soft winds. A few small dragons flitted above them. None approached. Aster eyed a white angular dragon curling lazily beneath a perch. North tried and failed to befriend a Critter-like one. Bunnymund saw one spit fire and refused to go near it again.

But the breakthrough came at the clubhouse, a wide table with maps spread across it, pinned with notes and rough annotations.

One parchment stood out: a rough path scrawled from Dragon’s Edge to Berk.

A note was tacked above it.

Support requested from Berk. Temporary relocation underway.

“They went ‘round Berk, by the looks of it,” Aster muttered.

“About a week’s sail, winds permitting,” North mused.

Mary turned to him, stunned. “You’d take me?”

He laughed, booming and bright. “Da, of course! Our dear riders won’t mind if we borrow some supplies.”

“A week. On that bloody ship?” Bunnymund paled.

North laughed harder.

They gathered a few essentials from the supply house. Just enough. Nothing more than needed. Then they turned to the sea, sails once again catching the breeze.

And so began the week-long journey to Berk, toward answers and the hopefully the boy they once knew.

 

The sea lay heavy with silence, broken only by the swaying creak of Eret’s solitary vessel drifting across still waters. Where a fleet had sailed, mighty, ruthless, prepared, there was now wreckage, still somewhere at the bottom of the sea. Trappers slouched aimless at the rails, returning to their base, their nets empty, their spirits low.

“Keep your eyes peeled, lads!” Eret’s voice broke through like a whip-crack of false confidence. “With this wind, we’ll reach Drago by daybreak. Best we fill this tub with dragons and quick. It’s no time to be picky.”

A whisper from the crew, soft, tentative: “Uh, Eret?”

He turned, gaze sharp.

“Not if we want to keep our….” Eyes widened. “HEADS!” His shout was ecstatic. “OFF THE PORT SIDE!”

Ballista spun and fired.

Three dragons soared in from the mist… riders on two.

“Incoming!” someone shouted.

They all landed, rocking the vessel. Jack on all fours with eerie precision, his dragon-shaped helm concealing his features. From a distance, one could mistake him for a beast.

The crew scrambled, startled.

Astrid, axe ready. Jack, claws digging in the boards.

“I was worried we might turn up empty-handed,” Eret muttered.

“Nope,” came Hiccup’s irreverent chirp. He popped the ‘p’ and raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s your lucky day!” “We give up!”

Astrid blinked. Jack tilted his head. “Is he serious?” their expressions screamed.

Hiccup gestured dramatically. “That’s one Night Fury… one Deadly Nadder… and one Frostbite.” He winked at Jack, who responded with an unsure warble.

Eret squinted at the frost-suited hybrid now prowling the foredeck. From the shape of the head to the curved, scaled tail. But… was that a seam?

“And,” Hiccup continued, stepping into view blocking his friend, “two of the finest dragon riders west of Luctuk!”

A net was thrown, Astrid caught unaware, eyes still locked on Hiccup like he’d grown a second head.

“That oughta make the boss happy,” Hiccup quipped, pressing her axe against Eret’s chest like an offering. “Excuse us!” He marched willingly toward the sunken cage embedded into the ship’s hull.

“What are you doing?” Astrid hissed, eyes narrowed.

“Toothless… stay.” Hiccup’s voice grew serious.

Toothless warbled, torn.

“The dragons don’t care for cramped spaces. They’ll hang with you.” He sealed himself within the cage like a man voluntarily climbing into a trap.

The trappers pulled weapons.

Toothless and Jack’s eyes narrowed… slits of impending danger.

“Unless…You do that,” Hiccup grinned from behind bars.

“You know, ice spitter,” he pointed at Jack. “Froze the sea and your ships last time. Big ocean. How’s your swimming?”

“Not good,” came the muttered reply.

Hiccup activated Inferno, his blade roaring to life in fire.

“Oops. Almost forgot.” He knocked his palm to his head. “Can’t have armed prisoners!” Latch destroyed. Cage meaningless.

Astrid whispered sharply, “How is this a plan?”

Jack twitched. Wondering the same.

Hiccup handed the fiery blade to Eret. “Every trappers dream! One end coats in Monstrous Nightmare saliva, other sprays Zippleback gas.”

Naturally, someone fiddled.

Green fumes erupted. Jack gagged. At least he’d taken position by the bowsprit.

Floating embers danced; Toothless swatted at them playfully.

“See?” Hiccup’s grin pressed deep. “Once they see you as one of their own, even the testiest dragon can be trained. Right, bud?”

Toothless sidled up in agreement.

Eret was done with theatrics. Growling, he ripped the volatile blade from the canister-holding idiot’s hands and threw it into the sea.

Jack launched forward instinctively, but Stromfly zipped after it first. He relaxed, opening his helmet jaw slightly to better see the chaos. His grin was sharp and nearly feral.

Eret turned, huffing. “What game are you playing?”

“No game,” Hiccup replied smoothly. “We just wanna meet Drago.”

“Why?” Eret narrowed his gaze. Jack nodded slowly, valid question.

“I’m going to change his mind about dragons.”

Laughter broke across the crew.

Stromfly dropped the blade back at Eret’s feet. The man stared slack-jawed. Jack struggled hard not to audibly cackle.

“He can be really persuasive,” Astrid deadpanned, emerging coolly.

“Once you’ve earned a dragon’s loyalty,” Hiccup cooed, rubbing Toothless’ snout, “there’s nothing it won’t do for you.”

Eret scoffed. Stromfly nudged the terrified hunters.

“I can change your mind. Right here. Right now,” Hiccup offered.

Eret’s face froze somewhere between skeptical and concerned. Toothless prepped for flight.

“May I?” Hiccup asked.

Then he vanished, snatched midair, sails shredded. Scream echoing above.

“DRAGON RIDERS!” Eret roared.

Toothless scaled the mast, a blur of frantic muscle.

Jack followed, zipping skyward-blazing through mist, until both paused.

Hookfang held Hiccup in his claws. No danger.

“Put me down! What are you doing?” Hiccup flailed.

Snotlout smirked, casting a glance toward Ruffnut. “See how well I protect and provide?”

Ruff dry-heaved. Jack blinked. Tossing a snowball direct to Snotlout’s head.

“Hi, Frosty,” the man waved. Jack rolled his eyes. Again.

Nets flew. Again.

Ruff batted her lashes at the net launcher, as if hoping to be caught.

“Really??” Jack groaned. Tuffnut gagged beside him.

Hiccup kicked off Hookfang, turning midair, his gliders spreading like wings. Astrid tackled Eret mid-net aim.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

Hiccup rappelled down into the sail. Landing with a thud.

Jack nearly crashed into Fishlegs and Meatlug in his distraction. He is not equipped to handle so much theatrics.

“Ehh, what are you doing here?” Hiccup called.

“WE’RE HERE TO RESCUE YOU!” Gobber landed beside Grump, his mace-arm ready.

“I didn’t need rescued!”

Jack landed beside him, upright, forgetting the dragon act.

“ENOUGH!”

Stoick dropped like a meteor, Skullcrusher at his side, air thrumming from sheer mass and command.
Eret resumed his fake authority. Stoick shoved him back. Gobber knocked his skull. Grump settled atop Eret.

“Anyone else?” Gobber asked with a smirk. Silence.

“That’s what I thought.” Stoick grinned. Jack crossed his arms. Living with this crew had its perks.

Stoick turned.

“You saddle up, we’re going home.”

“No.”

“Of all the irresponsible…”

“I’m trying to protect our dragons! Stop a war. How is that irresponsible?!”

Gobber leaned close to Jack. “Aye, they’re at it again.”

Stoick’s chest heaved. “BECAUSE WAR IS WHAT HE WANTS, SON!”

 

Stoick stood center-deck, feet planted firmly, his eyes distant. He took a deep breath continuing much more calmly.

“Years ago,” he began, voice low, “there was a great gathering of chieftains to discuss the dragon scourge we all faced. Into our midst came a stranger… from a strange land. Covered in scars, cloaked in dragon skin. Carried no weapon. Spoke softly.”

All eyes turned to him.

“He said he was Drago Bludvist, a man of the people. Devoted to freeing mankind from the tyranny of dragons. Claimed he alone could control them. That he alone could keep us safe… IF we chose to bow down and follow him.”

From the rear, the twins and Snotlout burst into laughter.

But Stoick didn’t flinch. “Aye, we laughed too… until he wrapped himself in that cloak and cried out—THEN SEE HOW WELL YOU DO WITHOUT ME!”

The silence snapped. “The rooftops burst into flame. Armored dragons descended. Burned the hall to ash.”

He exhaled, slow, tired. “I was the only one to escape.”

His gaze found Hiccup now. Not as chief, but as son. As boy.

“A man who kills without reason… cannot be reasoned with.”

Hiccup walked toward Toothless, words heavy on his shoulders. “Maybe.”

“Hiccup,” Stoick warned, voice edged.

Everyone looked at stoick. No one payed my where Eret’s gaze had drawn. He had stilled, throat locked, staring through the narrow gap in Jack’s helm. The hybrid’s eyes shimmered, human in shape, dragon in stance. The realization left the trapper breathless.

Jack crouched, knowing all well what Hiccup was about to do.

“But I’m still going to try,” Hiccup said, swinging astride Toothless. Stoick stepped close, but not close enough.

“This is what I’m good at. And-and if I can change your mind… I can change his too.”

Jack launched first, his azure-edged suit glinting in the light, wings snapping wide. Frost laced the air behind him. Eret was sure, that was a seam moving along with the wingbeats.

“C’mon,” Hiccup murmured to Toothless, and the dragon took off.

Astrid mounted Stormfly in a heartbeat, whispering, “Let’s go-“

“No.” Stoick stopped her with steel in his voice. “Lead the others back to Berk. I’ve had enough mutiny for one day.”

Astrid frowned, but obeyed.

Meanwhile, Eret stood slack-jawed, gaze locked on the trail left behind by the hybrid in flight. Because that’s what it was. A dragon? More a man? No.

…Both.

The image chilled him to the core.

He was snapped out of it by a blonde braided viking.

Ruffnut sprawled beside his pinned form. “Oooh I like that,” she crooned, eyebrows dancing at Eret. She was promptly shouted at to join the others… but not before pressing a kiss against her hand and slapping it to his lips.

“Ew,” Eret grunted, wiping his lips.

And with that the riders were gone as fast as they arrived.

 

The wind howled softly across the clouds, restless, biting, and insistent. Hiccup soared just above them, his posture rigid atop Toothless, not from chill but from the war of thoughts behind his furrowed brow. Every gust gnawed at him. Every flicker of sunlight made him wince. Below him, Jack had vanished into the mist nearly half an hour ago, when hiccups waved him off. Perhaps he’d turned back toward the others. And Hiccup… wasn’t angry.

Not with Jack.

Not even with his father, though the pressure of Stoick’s stubbornness weighed heavy. No, what churned through him now was something more jagged. Directionless. Drago’s name flitted across his mind refusing to leave. But flying above the clouds wouldn’t bring him answers. Just more questions.

He waved his fists against the air, loosing a sharp yell that vanished into the wind. Toothless let out a soft, concerned warble. Hiccup ran a hand across the dragon’s back.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he whispered, voice shaking more than he intended. “I promise.”

Toothless grumbled, deep, uncertain as his gaze shifted across the sky.

Hiccup didn’t notice a figure approach until the air around him stirred.

Relief sparked. “Jack, thank Odin, I—”

But what met him was not Jack.

A figure, armored, alien, stood poised on the clouds themselves as if gravity held no dominion. Its helm was carved with prongs, tusks curled around its silhouette. No words. Just a stare.

And then, it dropped.

Toothless growled, low and sharp. Hiccup eased his partner with a hand to his head. “No sudden moves…”

The clouds thinned. A behemoth dragon, monstrous and hulking, rose from the fog, rider stood atop it as if it wasn’t a moving creature . Its wings eclipsed the sky. It circled slowly, predator and monarch in one breath. The dragon’s gaze locked on Toothless. The rider’s, on Hiccup. No attack. Not yet.

“Hold on…” he muttered. “Hold on.”

But the moment offered no mercy. Hiccup was torn from Toothless’s back. He could barely hear his own screaming. Toothless wailed, a cry of dread as he plunged, helpless, toward the frigid sea far below.

 

Jack was soaring through cloud cover, the sky heavy above and quiet below. A mile behind Hiccup and Toothless, he trailed them loosely, not out of doubt, just to give the man some space. The wind here was gentle, glassy, folding over his wings with little resistance. The familiar whistle of air around Toothless’s slim frame echoed faintly ahead, guiding Jack through the shifts in the wind more than sight.

He flicked a snowball into the air and tried to catch it again, tossing it hand to hand. Fifteen attempts. He sighed. It wasn’t about the snowball, it was the stillness. The waiting. The uncertainty.

Jack understood why Hiccup did what he did. Why he surged forward alone in the name of peace, heart open to strangers who’d never earned that trust. But Jack didn’t believe this path led anywhere safe. It was second nature for him to avoid every threat, every risk. His instincts told him to run. Hide. Lay low. Vanish if needed.

But Hiccup wasn’t like him.

He was light.

Brighter than anything Jack had remembered. Hiccup wore his heart on his sleeve, his desire to help outweighing all logic, even his own safety. Jack couldn’t figure him out. Couldn’t see where all that hope came from.

Another sigh. The wind nudged him sharply now.

A shift.

Subtle,but unmistakable.

Jack twitched his ears, tuned to the language of the wind. Something had changed. Hiccup and Toothless weren’t flying alone anymore. Jack squinted through the haze, feeling the strokes of wings ahead. He sensed dragons. Maybe a flock?

Still calm.

Still silent.

Nothing that raised alarms.

 

Until it shifted, something was wrong. Their air turned heavy, not graceful. Before calm and flowing now turned jagged.

His heart pounded against his ribs, blood froze with dread.

Without hesitation, he surged forward, wings slicing the sky, scale-armored limbs pushed like tension wire.

He closed the mile in seconds.

And saw it.

Hiccup, being snached off of his night fury, screaming.

Jack’s head snapped downward, eyes narrowing to slits as instinct took hold. He saw Toothless falling fast, too fast. The black blur of the Night Fury tumbled toward the frozen sea below, limbs flailing, wings twisted from panic. The surface loomed, ice expanding below them.

Jack didn’t hesitate.

He raised one hand, flicking an ice blast toward the largest creature overhead, four wings, monstrous size, rider perched like a shadow. He didn’t wait to see if it hit. There was no time.

Instead, he dove.

Faster than he had ever flown in his life.

The wind screamed around him, scales slicing the air, wings pulled close to streamline his descent. His breath hitched. He saw Toothless just below him, spinning uncontrollably, velocity dragging the dragon like a meteor. Jack knew instantly he wouldn’t have time to stop him completely. Not before impact.

So he did the next best thing.

He slammed into Toothless mid-dive, wrapping his arms tightly around the dragon’s ribs. With a sharp twist, he spun the creature’s body in the air, angling him away from the worst of the fall. His larger wingspan helped stabilize the rotation, dragging against the wind as Jack forced the turn. Toothless growled in confusion, pupils blown wide.

Jack’s scales were heavier. Denser. They were meant to take more damage. He was counting on that.

The ice was coming fast. Too fast.

He could hear it singing.

The breeze changed just before contact, the gusts skirting across the frozen surface like warning of pain. He knew the impact was coming. He braced.

At the final second, Jack kicked hard, thrusting Toothless away from his chest, away from his descent vector. The move slowed the dragon’s fall, giving him a chance to regroup. He landed to the side on the ice impact much softer.

And Jack slammed into it.

The first feeling was a punch. A full-bodied blow that knocked every ounce of breath from his lungs. The cold was instantaneous, piercing, merciless. But it wasn’t the pain that broke him.

It was the sound.

The sickening, brittle sound of ice breaking.

It lasted only a fraction of a second. Just long enough to crack through the thicker surface beneath him. Just long enough for his brain to register what was happening. Just long enough for everything inside him to unravel.

The sound.

That sound.

He hadn’t known he feared it. Not until it was too late.

That the last time he heard it, he died.

His body reacted before thought could catch up. Panic ignited every limb. He thrashed, spinning in the shallow break of shattered ice. But every frantic stroke dragged him lower. The water rose like above him.

He gasped.

Reflex.

Mistake.

The cold rushed down his throat, burned into his lungs. He choked as the agony bloomed, hot and raw, and still the water came. The more he gasped for air the more water he swallowed. His mind screamed. Not again. Not again.

He kicked toward the light, toward the jagged hole above, but the freezing around him had already begun.

His fingers, once clawed and sure, curled uselessly. His legs stilled. His wings dragged like weights.

And the cold, his birthright, betrayed him.

It curled inward, seized his skin, his breath.

He glimpsed the hole, bright and blurry, and the outline of Toothless above, roaring in anguish.

Jack tried to reach.

But his limbs no longer obeyed.

The ice wrapped around his wings.

Then his arms.

His legs.

His face.

The last thing he saw was the pale shimmer of sky through a hole in the surface. And a roar he barely heard.

 

The air was thick with dragons, wings slicing the wind in synchronized sweeps as Hiccup was carried through the sky, suspended between them by his arms. Below, the clouds twisted in grey swells, concealing whatever path he had come from.

At the front of the flock rode a figure, cloaked and pronged in helm and armor. If Hiccup had to a guess, would wager it was Drago Bludvist.

“HEY! YOU LEFT MY DRAGONS BACK THERE!” he shouted against the wind, his voice carried between leathery wings “ONE CAN’T FLY ON HIS OWN! HE’LL DROWN!”

He gritted his teeth, refusing to reveal Jack. That secret was one he would hold tightly. He clung to hope-hope that Jack had caught Toothless in time, solidified the ice beneath them, that the two were now circling, figuring out where he’d gone. Jack was probably towing Toothless now, gliding strong and silent in their wake. Because if toothless fell in the water… Jack couldn’t go save him.

The hoard descended upon a mountain, no, not a mountain. It was a fortress sculpted from ice spires, majestic and terrible. Towering like frozen monoliths reaching for the heavens, they clawed upward in jagged lines. Hiccup’s breath caught.

These spires… they mirrored Jack’s own, though at a much larger scale.

They entered through a narrow tunnel wound into the base, dragons slipping into the dark, returning home. Cold swallowed the light. Sound dulled. By the time Hiccup was dropped, roughly, unceremoniously, onto stone, the only illumination came from the walls themselves: blades of ice that refracted what little light entered.

He stumbled, surrounded by dragons on all sides. Shadows with scales. Eyes glinting. Hissing. Clicking.

“Hey…” he tried, his voice thin and small. “We—we have to head back for my dragons!”

No response. Only shapes slinking through dim light.

A dragon approached. Curious. Testing.

Without hesitation, Hiccup lit Inferno, flame curling into the dark, casting an orange arc across the room. The dragon froze, then tilted its head. Its pupils dilated. As the viking tilted blade back and forth. A deep purr rolled from its throat as it began to mimic the movement, its body swaying gently side to side in time with the rhythm.

Hiccup caught movement, behind a shield, tucked in shadow.

The figure was watching.

Dragons closed in. Hiccup switched to Inferno’s canister side, releasing Zippleback gas as he turned, a slow mist unfurling around him. He ignited it in with a spark, the gas burned in a circle. Wordless communication. Give me space.

The dragons backed off. Not aggressive, not afraid. Just aware.

Hiccup took the moment.

He stepped forward towards a dragon with an open hand, calm in his posture. The figure in the shadows moved at that, body low to the ground, circling, unreadable in gait and shape.

“Who are you?” Hiccup asked warily. “The dragon thief? Uh-Drago Bludvist?”

The architecture around them-the ice, the cold, the way even the person moved, it all gnawed at something deeper. “Are you a hybrid?” he pressed. “Do you even understand what I’m saying?”
This could be someone like Jack, maybe even a relative, a parent?

The figure raised a crooked staff. It spun once, slicing the stale air with an eerie whistle before slamming to the ground. The hook rattled on impact. Hollow, but not empty. Something inside shook. Bones?

Before Hiccup could study it, a dragon flew forward.

It carried Toothless.

The Night Fury landed in a limp heap, his body drenched, wings curling protectively around his sides. He began to shake the water off. Hiccup bolted forward, dropping to his knees, arms around his dragon’s head.

“Toothless! It’s okay-it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, gripping him tightly.

Toothless rumbled low in relief, nuzzling Hiccup’s chest.

“I’m glad to see you too, bud.”

But then Hiccup froze.

Wet.

If Toothless was wet, then Jack hadn’t caught him.

His heart dropped.

“There’s another one! Ja—FROST! He went after-”

The staff cracked against the ground again.

Two dragons swooped in, struggling to carry the next figure. Encased in ice that clung to his leg, wing, tail, and arm, broken in jagged plates and carved edges as though the dragons or toothless had tried to free him.

Hiccup and Toothless rushed forward, but Toothless stopped short, growling, tail curling protectively around Hiccup. The night fury turned as the figure stepped closer, eyes locked onto Jack. Their interest had changed—now sharp. Studying. The obsidian dragon moved into the space, blocking the view.

Hiccup crouched beside the frozen hybrid, fingers slipping past the jawline of the dragon-shaped helmet. The inside was caked in ice, but the path to Jack’s mouth was clear. “Please, please Jack don’t do this.” He whispered.

He hovered his hand.

Waited.

A cold breath ghosted over his palm.

He exhaled in relief.

“Frost… Frost,” he nudged, tapping the helm’s side gently.

Slowly, glacier-blue eyes blinked open.

Hiccup sagged in place.

“You really had me worried there.”

“Wha—” Jack rasped, breath hitching against gasping lips.

“Shh,” Hiccup interrupted. “Stay low. Like on the boats, okay?”

Jack’s eyes moved toward him, puzzled, then around. Then he gave the faintest nod.

On the other side of toothless, the figure moved again.

Another gesture with the staff and a dragon opened its jaw.

Toothless snapped upright, eyes narrowing.

A spark ignited in the beast’s throat, a stationary flame, not intended to burn. Then another dragon joined. And another. Fire pulsed from their mouths, casting a golden hue that danced across the jagged walls.

And now Hiccup saw the figure clearly.

They stepped forward.

Toothless stood his ground, teeth bared, tail coiled into a curved arc around Hiccup. Firmly planted in front of jack.

Jack shifted forward, the ice on his limbs cracking in sharp lines. He couldn’t remove it, that took time he didn’t have, but the smaller chunks now fractured allowed partial movement. He saw Toothless falter. The stranger’s steps were light, but not hesitant.

They dropped their shield.

Their staff.

Lowered to all fours, crawling toward Hiccup and Toothless.

Toothless growled again, muscles taught, but then the figure’s hand reached his snout.

Toothless melted instantly.

Joyful warbles echoed through the chamber as the stranger ran their fingers over his jaw, across his belly. The dragon rolled onto his back, tail thumping happily.

Hiccup blinked. “Uh…”

The figure approached Hiccup’s face next, palm outstretched.

He leaned away, unsure. As the stranger let out a gasp.

Then—

SLAM.

A wing burst down between them. White and blue. Scales dusted with frost.

Jack.

His body was still half-trapped in ice, but his stance was solid, threatening. The chunks now separated around limb and wing-his tail slammed hard against the ground.

Not just to break the ice.

To warn and intimidate.

A guttural growl rolled up his throat.

The figure jolted, hesitating, then repeated the hand motion used on toothless.

Jack didn’t flinch. Or roll over.

His growl deepened.

The motion hadn’t worked.

He wasn’t a dragon.

The figure tilted their head at Jack, then focused back on the other boy. A soft voice came from behind the their helm. “Hiccup?”

Hiccup placed a hand on Jack’s wing, slowly folding it down.

The figure removed their helmet.

A woman.

Hiccups thoughts raced, this could be Jacks mother.

She crouched close, voice trembling.

“Could it be? After all these years…”

She stood straight, eyes scanning Hiccup.

Jack’s growl simmered low, lip curling in warning.

Scratch that theory Jack didn’t seem to recognize her either.

And she didn’t pay mind to him, all her attention was on Hiccup.

“How is this possible?” she whispered.

Hiccup gently squeezed Jack’s wing. A silent gesture for him to calm.

He stopped growling.

“Should… should I know you?” Hiccup asked quietly.

The woman’s expression fell.

“No… You were only a babe.”

Jack’s posture eased. He lowered his wing slowly, the only thing keeping it in place now was hiccups soft grasp on the limb.

“A mother never forgets,” she said.

Hiccup gasped. Okay definitely not Jack’s mom.

His hand fell away.

Jack’s eyes widened behind his helmet. He retracted the wing along his back, taking a few steps to the side. This was not a moment for him to intrude on.

He didn’t hear the woman sushing his son.

Only the woman’s soft “Come…”

With a gesture for her son to follow.

 

The sky stretched bleak and unforgiving, a blanket of grey smothering the land below. Snow lashed mercilessly at the two riders as they tore through the frigid air, their dragons cutting swift lines through the wind, heads bowed against the icy barrage.

Stoick grunted as his fur-lined cloak whipped behind him, snow crusting in his beard.

“Boar-headed… just like his mother,” he growled, voice half carried off by the gust. “Aye, she could never stay put either!”

Gobber rolled his eyes beneath his helmet. “Ehhh, he’s just twenty, and a Viking at that. I mean, could there be a worse combination? Hah!” He chuckled at the memory, shaking his head. “When I think of how stubborn and senseless you were back in the day…”

He paused.

Eyes widened slightly, lips pursed as he straightened up in the saddle.

“Oh… well, not much has changed actually.”

Stoick scoffed but his gaze had grown serious. “Ah, you know what he’s like. He won’t give up, Gobber. And if Hiccup finds Drago… before we find him…”

“Ahhh,” Gobber waved the thought off, hand flapping against the wind. “Nothing can harm Hiccup so long as that Night Fury is around. It’s a Night Fury! Not to mention the boy’s gone and befriended something outta myth! If the lad gets captured by any floating vessel, Jack’ll just freeze the sea. There’s that.”

But Stoick wasn’t listening anymore.

Something had shifted in his line of sight.

He leaned forward, eyes squinting. There, beneath them,an opening in the ice. Unnatural. Too round. Edged with jagged points like something had crashed through.

He swerved Skullcrusher sharply to the right, veering toward the break. Gobber followed, keeping pace on his dragon’s flank.

Stoick reached down mid-flight, gripping the saddle tightly with his knees as he leaned far to the side. His hand snatched a small, bobbing object from the water-chilled fingers closing over it.

He stared.

Hiccup’s helmet.

Both men exchanged a grim glance.

Stoick lowered the helmet to Skullcrusher’s nose.

“Find them, Skullcrusher. Find him,” Stoick commanded.

The Rumblehorn paused, sniffed once, twice.

Then-

A roar.

Low and booming, reverberating across the ice like a war drum. Skullcrusher surged forward, nostrils flaring, muscles taut

The two vikings raced toward the fractured horizon.

 

Hiccup didn’t know what to think, his heart felt like it was beating in his throat. He weaved through the stone tunnels, chasing after… his mother? Toothless bounded right behind him, swift and sure-footed, while Jack trailed behind. The dragon hybrid moved deliberately, using the narrow turns and jagged ridges to knock the ice off himself, chunks clattering to the stone floor with each movement.

They had just rounded another bend when Hiccup finally found his voice.

“A-hold on, wait just a minute!” he called out, breathless.

The woman surged forward, calling behind her.

“This way.”

“Come back here!” Hiccup’s shout echoed off the stone.

Valka ducked beneath a low arch, unfazed.

“Come.”

“You can’t just say something like that and run off!”

Hiccup struggled to follow, his prosthetic making uneven terrain a challenge. She was fast, her body fluent in the rhythm of this place, and he couldn’t lose her. Not now.

“You’re my mother? I mean, what the…” He crouched through a low tunnel, disbelief tightening his voice. “Do you grasp how insane that sounds?”

“Come quickly,” she urged.

Using her hooked staff, Valka vaulted up a slanted wall with effortless grace. Hiccup scrambled behind, trying to follow.

“I have questions,” he said, voice catching as his grip slipped a second time. “Where have you-ugh—been all this time?”

Toothless gave a warbled chirp and nudged him upward.

“What have you been doing? They said you were dead!” He squeezed through a cluster of jutting stones. “Everyone thinks you were eaten by…”

But the word stalled in his throat.

Suddenly, the narrow darkness gave way to a luminous cavern, a cathedral of nature. Towering stone pillars shimmered under blankets of moss and ferns, dragons spiraling gracefully around them like smoke on the wind. The sky was gone, replaced by a ceiling of ice, impossibly high, ethereal and grand.

Hiccup blinked at the breathtaking sight. Jack emerged from behind, freezing mid-step just as Hiccup had. Still on all fours, his armor gleaming dully, His tail was finally free of ice, arm mostly free as well. His wings and one leg remained slightly encrusted, but he was considerably more mobile.

The trio, Hiccup, Toothless, and Jack stood in awed silence. Their gaze lifted and locked onto the distant shape of Valka, perched alongside a fierce clawed dragon high on a cavern wall. She looked almost inhuman, wild and wonderful.

“This is where you’ve been the last twenty years?” Hiccup asked, voice cracking.

Valka nodded.

“You—You’ve been rescuing them?” He stared, stunned.

She nodded again.

An affectionate dragon nudged Toothless, who squirmed away uncomfortably, overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

Hiccup exhaled, the word escaping him like steam, “Unbelievable.”

Valka’s eyes softened. “You’re not upset?”

“What-Ah? No. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of everything. “It’s a bit much to get my head around, to be frank. It’s not every day you find out your mother is some kind of crazy, feral, vigilante dragon lady.”

Jack let out a dry, amused warble from behind. Hiccup shot him a look.

Valka chuckled, extending her hook to her dragon. The owl-like creature responded with delicate precision, allowing her to descend gently with the help of a wing. They moved in perfect harmony.

“At least I’m not boring, right?” she asked with a shy laugh.

“I suppose there is that… one specific thing,” Hiccup muttered as another dragon nuzzled against him. He scratched its snout, smiling faintly as it leaned into his touch.

“Do you like it?” Valka asked.

“I-I don’t have the words,” Hiccup said, gazing around honestly.

Jack and Toothless were having a tougher time, each surrounded by curious residents of the sanctuary. Toothless, in particular, had enough when one dragon’s sniff got a little too personal-he snorted indignantly, warning the intruders away.

Valka laughed. “Can-Can I?” she asked Hiccup. He shrugged, giving her silent permission.

“He’s beautiful,” she said, crouching to Toothless. The Night Fury melted under her touch, nuzzling her with affectionate abandon.

Jack, trying to keep his distance from the crowd, caught sight of this and huffed. Really? Did Toothless not remember that this was the woman who sent them hurtling into the sea?

“Incredible,” Valka whispered as she stroked Toothless. “He might very well be the last of his kind. And look-he’s your age.” She gestured to the small fin-like nubs under Toothless’s jaw. “No wonder you get along so well.”

As she played with the dragon, Toothless retracted his teeth. Valka leaned in to examine them, wide-eyed.

“Retractable teeth!” she exclaimed.

 

Jack kept to the shadows, crouched behind a fallen arch of stone. He wasn’t sure what to make of this place. The few Vikings and their dragons he’d come to tolerate were manageable, but this… this was something else entirely. A vast cavern teeming with dragons, too many snouts, too many unfamiliar sounds. It was overwhelming.

He shrank down, mirroring Toothless’s submissive posture, though neither of them found relief in imitation. Dragons not backing off at the sign of discomfort. When the crowd pressed too close, Jack let out a soft exhale, a puff of fog that dropped the temperature like a brewing storm. The dragons recoiled, wary of the sudden cold.

That drew her attention.

Valka tilted her head, her eyes fixed on Jack’s shape.

“And what of this magnificent creature?” she asked, moving closer in a cautious crouch. She was non-threatening, her posture careful. But Jack wasn’t ready to forget. He was still trembling, shaken from the memory of nearly drowning… it scared him that it’s likely not the first time.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling.

He did know one thing: he wasn’t some pet to be approached casually. With a low growl, he backed into the moss-covered wall, tail flicking and claws curled against the rock.

“Y-Yeah… That’s Jack,” Hiccup said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyeing the fog lingering around his friend.

“I’ve never seen anything like him,” Valka said, her voice soft, as she tried to peer through the mist without invading his space.

“No—no you definitely didn’t,” Hiccup chuckled awkwardly. “Jack, this is my mom. And Mom… this is Jack.”

A confused, warbled noise came from the mist. Hiccup reached in, coaxing Jack forward. “How about we introduce you two for real this time.”

Valka’s brows furrowed as a scaled, draconic hand wrapped around Hiccup’s arm, larger than a human’s but eerily shaped like one, angular and tipped with claws.

Hiccup helped Jack rise. The dragon hybrid stood tall on his haunches, towering over the Viking. Hiccup took a cautious step back, still holding Jack’s arm, guiding him out of the fog.

They stopped in front of Valka, who watched with patient curiosity.

With a nod from Hiccup, Jack raised his clawed hands to his helmet, as he removed it. A mane of white hair spilled out, framing vivid blue eyes.

Valka stepped back-not in fear, but in awe. “Oh my…”

Jack looked away, uneasy with the intensity of her stare. She stepped into his space and he instinctively leaned back, uncomfortable. But she wasn’t done. She reached for his hand, not to shake, but to examine. Jack shot Hiccup a pleading look: “Help me.” Hiccup barely held back a snort of laughter.

“Not in all my life…” Valka murmured, now crouched beneath his arm, inspecting the junction where wings met his back.

“The armor is some idea. You blend in so well. Although I’d love to see your injury sites…”

Her fingers traced the curve of a wing.

“How do you know about his injuries?” Hiccup asked, thinking of the bruises and arrow wound near Jack’s hip.

He also stepped behind Jack, pushing aside the other wing to get a better look.

“That’s the only way for him to be like this,” Valka smiled faintly.

“I thought he was a hybrid?” Hiccup whispered, wincing. “Human mom, dragon dad sort of thing?”

Valka laughed gently. “Don’t be silly. He was just hurt, horribly so, from the looks of it.”

Jack rolled his eyes, fed up as the pair continued their conversation literally between his wings. He waited a full minute, then huffed and folded them shut, removing their makeshift privacy curtain.

They barely noticed.

“What do you mean by that?” Hiccup asked.

“I mean he was born human, just like you and me.”

Jack crossed his arms and turned. “Can we in-clude the sub-j-ect in the con-verr-sation?” he interrupted.

Valka and Hiccup winced in sync.

“What do you mean?” Jack fixed his gaze on Valka. “Bo-rr-n human?”

Valka hesitated, then sorrow crossed her face. “You truly don’t remember?”

Jack’s ears flattened. “I w-was a-lways like this.”

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she searched for truth. Her hand reached out and Jack didn’t resist. Her fingers touched the base of his neck, where his scales faded into bare skin, grazing the back of his finned ears.

He fought the urge to lean into her touch.

He couldn’t stand the pity in Hiccup’s eyes.

“The trauma must have been too great,” she whispered, her gaze soft and maternal. Pain echoed between them.

“I-I don’t understand,” Jack whispered, staggering backward.

Valka stepped back herself, removed her boot slowly, speaking as she did. “It is a rare blessing to gain a Bewilderbeast’s favor. Even rarer for them to witness a tragedy and intervene.”

She revealed her calf. A shimmering patch of white scales shaped like a gash along her leg, fading seamlessly into skin.

“Me and Cloudjumper couldn’t evade a trapper’s harpoon in time,” she said. “I thought my time had ended. But our protector deemed I had things left to do. When I woke up, my leg was healed. No pain… just a few scales.”

She stood again, eyeing Jack closely. “You’re truly just a boy. I can’t imagine what you’ve endured.”

She reached out, but Jack backed away.

His ears were low, eyes slitted. He gasped in short bursts, dragging an ice-crusted leg with him and clawing at his throat.

Hiccup recognized the signs, Jack was spiraling.

He closed the gap swiftly, grasping Jack’s arms before he could harm himself. Frost spread beneath them, creeping across the moss.

“Jack, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered, trying to restrain him gently.

But Jack was gone.

All he saw was the blizzard.

Rope strained under his palms, ice creaked beneath him. His toes turned blue, then black. Screams echoed ahead. He had to move. Something shifted beneath the surface.

Hiccup’s voice meant nothing.

Stillness fell over the cavern.

All dragons landed on the central pillars quietly, fluttering away from the source of the cold. Only Toothless and Cloudjumper remained. The temperature dropped further. Hiccup could feel Jack shivering through his grip.

He grasped for anything, anything to bring him back.

“Jack… remember Mae?” he said urgently. “She wanted to go ice skating, right? But it’s too early?”

He repeated the name, praying Mae was someone important, someone who mattered enough to pull Jack out of the storm.

It worked.

Jack’s breathing slowed. His gaze still darted, unfocused. But the frost stopped spreading.

“Hiccup?” Valka whispered.

Hiccup held up a hand. Wait.

Jack’s vision swam. A damaged vessel frozen in ice. His mother and sister, traders aboard, all in panic. Their expressions twisted from relief to horror as they saw him. Mae ran to him. He smiled at her, reassuring her it would be okay. Her mother looked at his state in shock, but forced a smile for the sake of her daughter when she turned back.

Then it was summer, a younger girl, burst into his room, dragging him out to play. A rocking horse carved by his hands. A man with bushy eyebrows. A black-haired boy in grey furs tossing wooden toys to the wind.

“Mate, you really are losing it,” the boy said.

Jack tossed a snowball, laughing.

The memory faded.

Hiccup’s voice broke through. “—re you okay? Can you hear me?”

Jack dropped to his knees. Whispered, awestruck:

“I had a family.”

“What?” Hiccup breathed.

Jack looked up, wonder and joy lighting his face. “I HAD A FAMILY!” He leapt to his feet. “I HAVE A SISTER!”

He laughed a breathy, golden thing. Hiccup stared, stunned.

Jack tried to fly up, but the remaining ice on his wings sent him tumbling. He just laughed harder. Hiccup joined in, grinning.

Toothless bounded over, nudging and warbling at Jack. Jack did the same back, their voices rising like birdsong. Life returned to the sanctuary, dragons shook themselves off and soared again.

Valka exhaled with relief, petting Toothless as the dragon tucked her into their reunion.

Then the air grew colder.

A gust of frost rolled over the mossy ledge where Hiccup, Jack, Toothless, and Valka stood. It wasn’t Jack or the wind. It was breath.

The Great Bewilderbeast had awakened.

Towering from the icy depths of his domain, the colossal dragon raised its eyes level with the outcropping. Steam rose from his nostrils in thick clouds as he studied the group from across the cavern. His eyes glowed with ancient sentience, glacier blue and vast.

Jack and Hiccup stood frozen, slack-jawed.

Toothless lowered himself with deep respect, his wings tucked tightly in submission.

“This is the home of the great Bewilderbeast, the alpha species,” Valka said softly, awe threading through her voice. She stepped forward, head bowed slightly.

“One of the very few that still exists. Every nest has its queen, but this—this is the king of all dragons.”

The massive dragon inhaled deeply, eyes tracking across the trio.

“With his icy breath, this graceful giant built our nest. A safe haven for dragons everywhere.”

Hiccup’s brow furrowed. “Wait… that’s the ice spitter? Is he the one responsible for Jack?”

Jack didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His breath caught.

He stared into those monumental blue eyes, eyes that haunted his dreams, that had watched him in flashes of memory he didn’t understand. But this time… those eyes looked back.

He felt impossibly small beneath the weight of that gaze. His chest tightened. Something pulled deep in his core, a distant chord that hummed with urgency.

A soft, involuntary warble escaped Jack’s throat, seeking… what? Recognition?

The creature shifted, its head drifting closer with a rumble that shook stone. The very air trembled.

Valka chuckled behind them. “He protects us. Jack must have done something truly remarkable for the king to save his life.”

Jack took a cautious step forward, moving toward the edge of the outcropping. His leg still dragged, wing sluggish from the ice still caked on it. The Bewilderbeast hummed, watching him closely, but their moment was interrupted as a swarm of juvenile dragons swirled around its face, clambering like excited children.

Jack laughed quietly. The sight reminded him of home, Fizz and the others probably causing Gobber similar headaches back in the village.

“We all live under his care and command,” Valka continued. “All but the babies, of course. Who listen to no one.”

The king shook his head gently, dislodging the young ones, who fluttered away in a flurry of bright wings. Jack smiled again, but the moment shifted as the great beast’s gaze returned to him, now sharper, more focused.

“I’ve lived among them for twenty years. Discovering their secrets.”

The creature lowered its head slightly and released another breath of frost, not harsh or cruel. The humans shielded their faces from the sting of tiny ice needles, but Jack had a different experience entirely.

Around his limb and wing, the remaining ice began to break apart, crumbling to powder-soft snow. He felt the relief instantly, the weight lifted, limbs now free.

Valka chuckled again. “He likes ya.”

Jack let out a gentle warble in gratitude, his eyes wide with awe, and the Bewilderbeast turned, disappearing back into the water without fanfare, like a god retreating from the stage.

Valka stepped up beside him, her gaze bouncing between him and Hiccup.

“You must be hungry.”

“Yeah, we could eat,” Hiccup replied with a grin, nudging Jack. The dragon hybrid smiled back, heart still pounding.

Valka’s smile curved mysteriously.

“Good. It’s feeding time.”

Toothless bounded across the out ropping, tail whipping gleefully as he reveled in the prospect of food. With an excited chirp, he dove beneath Cloudjumper’s outstretched wing, nestling under it like humans do when they seek shelter from rain. The older dragon let out a long-suffering sigh, casting a sideways glance, then rolled his eyes and removed the limb. Turning his back to the night fury.

 

A few hundred miles off the other riders lounged on a bobbing iceberg, visibly bored. Astrid landed from yet another scouting lap, frustration tightening her face.

“I don’t like it. They should have been back with Hiccup and Jack by now.”

“I don’t like it either,” Ruffnut sighed dramatically. “Eret, Son of Eret, was the man of my dreams… my everything!”

“But baby, I grew facial hair for you!” Snotlout declared, puffing his chest.

“Me too,” Fishlegs mumbled, deflated.

“What if Drago shot them down?” Astrid’s voice rose. “What if they need our help?” Her gaze swept the horizon, then hardened with resolve. “We need to find them.”

“Wait-wait, what?” Fishlegs stuttered. “But Stoick said-”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. If they’ve all been captured… Come on.” With that, she launched herself into the sky.

 

Eret paced along the remains of his tattered ship, its sail barely clinging to splinters.

“Do we go back?”

“We’ve got nowhere to go. Nothing to sell. And no heads worth keeping if we don’t show up with dragons and fast—AAHHHHH!” His statement turned into a very manly scream as Stormfly scooped him up in one quick motion.

“Careful what you wish for,” Astrid sang sweetly as Eret flailed in Stormfly’s clutches.

“ERET SON OF ERET!” his crew shouted after him, their voices fading fast as the dragon riders pulled away.

“What is this?” Eret gasped, now hundreds of feet in the air.

“A kidnapping,” Astrid smirked.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut soared beneath him, Ruffnut reaching up, trying to pull him closer.

“Yaaay! Can he ride with me? Caaaan he?” she whined, while Eret recoiled dramatically, burying himself back into Stormfly’s hold in disgust.

“You’re gonna show us the way to Drago,” Astrid called over the wind.

“And help dragon riders sneak into Drago’s camp? Just kill me now,” Eret muttered, letting go of Stormfly’s leg. Now he hung by an arm and a foot.

“That can be arranged,” Astrid replied, coolly. “Stormfly, drop it.”

Stormfly tilted forward and released him. Eret plummeted, screaming.

“Good girl, Stormfly.” Astrid waited for a few beats before pointing down. “Stormfly, fetch!”

“Alright! OKAY, I’LL TAKE YOU TO DRAGOOO!” he shouted as he plummeted further.

The dragon dove after him, catching him just after his plea.

“Works every time,” Astrid said with satisfied ease, stretching her arms as the team banked toward their new destination.

 

Jack, Valka, and Hiccup soared through the crystalline skies, wings stretched wide above the sea’s glassy surface. The horizon shimmered and the salty wind teased their hair and scales. Behind them, a stunning swarm of dragons painted the skyline, hundreds strong, varying in color and size.

Hiccup glanced back, eyebrows arched in question. “Hey, I-I thought we were going to eat?” he asked, puzzled as he looked at his mother.

Jack echoed the same surprise, his eyes flicking between the swirling cloud of dragons and Valka.

She smiled mischievously, gliding ahead on Cloudjumper. With a wordless laugh, she raised her hand in a quiet gesture to wait. “Oh, we are.”

Moments later, the sea surface below shattered. Seashockers sliced through the water like living torpedoes, herding glimmering schools of fish into pulsing orbs. Before Jack could ask what was happening, the water beneath them erupted.

The Bewilderbeast.

Rising from the ocean depths like a mountain, the ancient creature gathered the fish in its gaping jaws and launched them skyward. An avalanche of glittering silver filled the sky in long, arching trajectories.

Dragons dove in instantly, swooping, curling, snapping fish from the air. The sky became a silver storm, chaotic and confusing. Jack’s eyes locked onto the Bewilderbeast, his instincts stirred by its presence.

Hiccup turned to say something, but a large fish flung itself into Jack’s face, knocking him several feet downward midair. Hiccup burst into laughter. Jack shooting him a playful, offended look before laughing too. He warbled to Toothless, who immediately bolted after a flying fish, startling Hiccup with the sudden gust.

Valka collected fish in woven baskets for grilling later, while Jack, entirely unbothered, glided backward, plucking smaller fish from the air, flash-freezing them, and swallowing them whole. Hiccup’s jaw fell open in mild horror.

Noticing his stare, Jack chuckled and flung a frozen fish at him, but Toothless intercepted the projectile, swallowing it, tongue-lolling and proud. When they all had their fill, the little group descended onto a nearby iceberg.

Mother and son flew ahead. Hiccup landed first, excited to show his map to his mother. He unfurled the parchment across the snow as Valka landed beside him, intrigued. She began carving a larger version into the frost, while Toothless scribbled chaotic icicle doodles nearby, circling Cloudjumper, who simply rotated his head nearly full circle to follow the Night Fury’s antics.

Jack perched alone on a neighboring iceberg, silently watching the Bewilderbeast repeat its fish-launching ritual twice more. Content. Thinking. He enjoyed listening to Hiccup and her mother while they bonded.

 

Soon, the dragons shifted eastward, toward distant cliffs that bent the wind into upward currents. The family unit stirred, prompting Jack to join them. He caught Hiccup’s glance mid-flight and the way the boy’s face lit up cracked something open inside him.

The cliffs were alive with dragons, diving from ledges only to float up on warm updrafts.

Jack entered the circle and felt weightless. The pressure that forever clawed at his wings vanished, leaving him suspended in bliss. He groaned in relief then looked toward Hiccup, who quickly averted his gaze, cheeks tinged. Jack chuckled at how comically the viking clung to Toothless’s saddle, his legs dangling, face half-hidden by curls.

He veered closer and nudged Toothless’s wing. The Night Fury responded with a happy trill, gums bare and tongue lolled out, clearly enjoying himself just as much, if not more.

Valka smiled knowingly and rose from Cloudjumper, dancing lightly across dragon backs. She floated like mist, using her hook to swing between wingbeats, moving from species to species until finally arriving atop Toothless. With practiced ease, she stepped over Hiccup, ruffling his hair.

When she arrived to Jack. Her movements slowed.

She lowered, meeting his gaze. Silent, seeking permission.

He nodded, barely perceptible. Her smile bloomed, much like her sons. She stepped onto Jack’s wing, who was amazed to find the currents holding her aloft. As she made her way toward his spine, Jack tensed.

But she was gentler than snow. Her touch on his head was reverent, lighter than the pat she’d given her child. At the wing’s edge, she raised her arms, and fell.

Jack braced.

But before anyone could cry out, Cloudjumper rose below her like a silent guardian, catching her with grace honed by decades of flight. She landed safely, smiling up at them.

They slowly lifted out of the current. That’s when Jack heard it.

A warble, deep and resonant, echoing through the distance.

The Bewilderbeast. Watching. Calling.

Valka and Hiccup turned to Jack. He met their eyes, brow furrowed.

“He’s calli—ng me,” Jack murmured, heart thundering.

Hiccup gave a soft nod, eyes serious and kind. “Go. We’ll meet you back at the sanctuary, okay?”

Jack hesitated, glancing once more at the family unit. Last time he left, Hiccup and the others had fallen into the wrong hands, interrogated, beaten, locked in trapper ships.

Hiccup nodded again and waved him off gently.

Jack sighed. One last look. Then with a beat of his wings, he vanished into the cold air, chasing after ancient giant.

Notes:

Hope you liiiked it.

Chapter 9: He’s Cold, Confused and Kinda into it.

Summary:

Shits and Giggles

Notes:

Chapter 9

He’s Cold, Confused and Kinda into it.

Aka: The author actually didn’t torture the protagonist this time!

Jack soared, his wings slicing through the cold ocean air in uneven beats. Before him the towering form of the great white giant. The bevilderbeast he named Chillwhompus, as if the name would make the creature less intimidating. The giant glided effortlessly just breaking the surface, vast and commanding, a living glacier leaving the sea churned in his wake.

Jack’s heart drummed a jagged rhythm against his ribs. His croons came out shaky and unsure, echoing above the water in uneven pitch. He wanted to turn back, to fly to safety, to familiarity. He glanced behind him again and again, aching for Hiccup’s steady presence or the sanctuary’s distant warmth. But something in Whompus’s rumble held him: not with force, but something subtler, deeper. A pull. As though the beast had tugged at the thread of his being, drawing him forward, not against his will, but against his fear.

This couldn’t be a death march, Jack told himself, fingers flexing along with his wings. If the Bewilderbeast had wanted him gone, he’d have ended it back at the sanctuary. But doubt clung to him like always, lingering and insidious.

Suddenly, the king halted. Jack, too distracted by his spiraling thoughts, collided with the beast’s back in a flurry of flailing limbs and indignant yelps. He could have sworn the deep rumble that followed carried amusement, a chuckle, deep and ancient.

Without warning, Chillwhompus loosed a breath. Pure concentrated frost, a blast of icy power that slammed into the open ocean, erecting a shimmering spire of ice that towered from the sea like a monument to Skadi. Jack hovered, confused and curious, while the creature unleashed another exhale, a refined beam of crystalline pressure. Tiny needles burst forth, slicing the structure apart into powdery snowflakes that vanished into the water, like the half of tower was never there.

Jack crooned softly, awestruck. The power was unlike his own, where his ice came as uncontrolled bursts, effected by his emotions, the giant’s was clean, focused. Enormous. He turned to Jack, letting out a sound that resembled a mountainside cracking beneath its own weight.

Jack tilted his head, brows furrowing in question, uncertainty curling inside along with the knot in his throat.

“What do you w-want me to do?” he asked aloud, voice rough and uneven. Chillwhompus responded with another blast at the shattered spire, disintegrating the final fragments until the sea lay flat once more, unbroken save for the massive beast’s presence.

It clicked. Jack had been partially trapped in ice when they first met. He was teaching him, showing him how to command the very thing that had nearly suffocated him so many times.

An excited warble escaped Jack’s throat as he swooped down, conjuring his own spire from the water’s surface. It wasn’t nearly as majestic, roughly the size of a ship, but it was his.

The giant watched, silent and unmoving.

Jack gathered his breath and launched his own icy blast. It hit, but instead of dismantling the spire, it added to it, more ice layered on like clumsy bricks. The structure bobbed awkwardly in response. Undeterred, Jack tried again. And again. And again. But all he managed was more ice. No snow, no soft powder, just a steadily growing iceberg.

After a dozen attempts, he paused, glancing toward Chillwhompus. The ancient dragon slowly opened its maw. A bright, white glow bloomed deep in its throat, not a blast, but a demonstration. The power didn’t rush, it coiled, built, gathered. Like a mist, but focused.

Jack mirrored the movement, focusing not on speed but intent. The power hummed in his chest, coalescing until he dared to release it. Sharp crystals whizzed forward, perfect in form, imperfect in delivery. They burst not with a concentrated stream, but with a sigh. The result: some mist.

From Chillwhompus came another booming rumble, definitely a laugh. Jack chuffed in reply, mock affronted, a grin curling despite himself. He froze and braced, waiting for retaliation, but none came. The massive dragons patience would not be broken by a single sassy reply. His only reaction was the quiet satisfaction of being acknowledged.

So the unlikely duo turned back to the task at hand.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky into a tapestry of amber and violet. With each breath, each failed attempt, Jack learned. Slowly, steadily, he chipped away at his iceberg. The needles were right. Now they simply needed to strike with force and precision.

As dusk whispered across the ocean, Jack finally carved out half the spire. He hovered, chest heaving, exhausted but triumphant. His wings ached. His eyelids heavy.

He aimed to land on whats left of his ice, but a breeze betrayed him. Just as his feet touched down, the spire vanished beneath him in a puff of freshly shaved snow. A startled groan left his throat.

But instead of falling, he landed atop some other solid. Just a bit warmer than ice.

The Brow of Chillwhompus’s head.

Tentatively, Jack grasped a thick quill jutting near him, steadying himself. The creature didn’t shake him off. Instead, it rumbled gently, low and melodic. A call of comfort. A call to rest.

Jack recognized it. Huffjaw used to make that sound for the hatchlings when it was time to curl in together, safe beneath her wings.

So he tucked himself in. Carefully, gingerly, folding his wings and tail, his mixed limbs lost on the massive contours of the giant’s form.

As the great beast began its slow journey toward the sanctuary, its immense breathing lulling Jack to sleep. He softly snored all the way back, on top of the frozen king.

 

Valka’s day had been many things, chaotic, surreal, miraculous. But “eventful” hardly scratched the surface.

Not in a thousand lifetimes would she have dared to dream of a night fury appearing before her again. And certainly not with her son perched on its back as though he’d belonged there all along. For twenty long years, she had clung to the belief that leaving Hiccup had been the right choice , so he would grow up like Stoick. Strong. Unyielding. A warrior bred for a war she had sworn to abandon.

But he hadn’t turned into Stoick.

He had turned into her.

And that realization, sharp and unexpected, stung deeper than she thought possible.

He had endured the same isolation. The same bloodshed. The same loneliness. And she had left him alone in it.

Despite all of that, after less than a day together, it was clear. This was the best day of her life.

Her son, brilliant and stubborn, had not only won the loyalty of a night fury but also had beside him a boy who, by all natural law, shouldn’t exist. Jack. Wonder naturally gathered around Hiccup as though it had never known to be anywhere else. She had missed witnessing all of it.

She found herself enjoying Jack’s quiet presence. the way he hovered nearby, perceptive and respectful, sensing she needed time alone with Hiccup. She didn’t know how to feel about wanting the boy to go. He was so frightened by the call of the Bewilderbeast, they could have gone with him but this gave her the rare chance to truly get to know her son.

Still, guilt pulled at her. She hadn’t missed the glances between Jack and Hiccup, the way Jack instinctively protected him, or how Hiccup’s eyes searched for the snow-haired boy even after he’d vanished into the sky. There was something more there… something tender. Something unspoken.

As Jack flew after the king, Valka guided Cloudjumper alongside Hiccup and Toothless in the opposite direction. The cliffs gave way to open air, the breeze rising to catch them. She sighed, content and weightless.

“When I’m up here,” she mused aloud, “I don’t even feel the cold. I just feel…”

“…free,” Hiccup finished softly, his voice riding the wind.

She turned to him, and the smile he offered back nearly shattered her. That smile could topple any Viking armada. Could rally every dragon in the archipelago. That was her son, not just by blood, but in soul. She opened her arms to the wind, embracing the current with a quiet reverence.

“This,” she said, breathless, “is what it is to be a dragon, Hiccup.”

A grin tugged at Hiccup’s lips as he adjusted something at his saddle, fingers nimble and mischievous.

“It’s all well and good to call yourself a dragon,” he challenged with a smirk, “but… can you fly?”

Before she could respond, Hiccup stood atop Toothless like a seasoned performer. And then, he jumped.

Valka’s heart seized. Cloudjumper startled beneath her, wings twitching with instinct to chase. Just as panic flooded her senses, Hiccup reached for something strapped at his legs. Wings unfurled, crafted by hand, man-made, but marvelously functional.

He was flying.

Toothless gave Cloudjumper a smug glance and surged forward, chasing his rider through the open skies. Valka urged Cloudjumper after them, her lips splitting into a grin that matched Hiccup’s as they danced through the air. He glided on his back, whooping in delight, wind curling through his hair.

Then a stone spire emerged in Hiccup’s path. He flailed, arms outstretched, trying to aim for a gap in the natural column.

Toothless cried out, wings beating furiously to catch him. The two shot through the hole, barely clearing it, and crashed into a bank of powdered snow on the other side. Toothless shielded his rider, cocooning him protectively as Valka swooped in. The dragon raised his wing, to check on the viking, but he wasn’t there.

A beat of silence.

Then Hiccup burst out of the snow a little with a gleeful shout, arms thrown high.

He grinned. “Maaan, almost, WE JUST ABOUT HAD IT THAT TIME!”

The dragon rolled his eyes and warbled deeply, his version of a laugh after swiping Hiccup’s legs out from under him. Hiccup collapsed in the snow together, laughing like a fool. He stood up brushing the snow out of his hair.

Valka landed beside them, amazement dancing in her eyes as she inspected the sleek leather wings and the fin-like stabilizer on Hiccup’s back. Her fingers trembled.

“Incredible,” she whispered.

“Well, I’m no Jack, but I try,” Hiccup said with a lopsided grin as she cradled his face gently. He leaned into her hand instinctively.

Something in her joy fractured.

“All this time… you took after me,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “And where was I?”

Regret spilled between breaths, every word heavy with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Hiccup. Can… we start over? Will you give me another chance? I can teach you all I’ve learned these past twenty years. Like-“

She stepped away, approaching Toothless. With practiced ease, she pressed her thumb into a ridge along his spine. The dragon blinked, surprised, as his dorsal plates split down the center, flaring into two halves. Toothless gasped, flapping the new fins experimentally.

“Now you can make those turns,” Valka offered, her voice brighter.

Toothless bounded in excitement, circling Hiccup and flapping joyously.

“Did you know about this?” Hiccup teased.

Valka laughed, soft, unsure.”Every dragon has its secrets. And I can show them all to you. We’ll unlock every mystery, find every species… together. As mother and son.”

They both laughed again as Toothless tunneled through the snow and popped up beside Cloudjumper. With a tilt of his head, the snow the night fury kicked up tumbled back onto his own head. Wide-eyed and content, obsidian dragon shook himself off.

“This gift we share, Hiccup… it bonds us,” Valka said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is who you are, son. Who we are. We’ll change the world for dragons. Make it into a better, safer place.”

Their eyes met. Shared passion flickered between them, a fire newly lit.

“Y-yeahh… I mean, that sounds amazing,” Hiccup replied, scratching the back of his neck shyly.

Valka didn’t wait. She swept him into a strong embrace, her arms locking around him as if to never let go. And when he hugged back, willingly, warmly, every knot of tension inside her unraveled. She had him back. Her baby. Her miracle.

Hiccup pulled back all too soon.

“This is so great!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out. “Now you and I can go talk to Drago. Together!”

Valka paused, her fingers brushing Cloudjumper’s neck. She looked at her son with a short, breathy laugh, part disbelief, part dread.

“What? There’s no talking to Drago,” she said flatly.

“But we have to-” Hiccup started.

“No,” she interrupted, gentler this time. “We must protect our own.”

Hiccup’s eyes did a full revolution. The biggest eye roll in the archipelago. Valka swore she could see Stoick’s groaning somewhere in the clouds.

After twenty years, this was the one sentence both his parents agreed on?

Valka mounted Cloudjumper with grace. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “We should be getting back.”

Toothless, still delighting in his newly discovered mobility, darted around in unpredictable zigzags. Hiccup groaned and chased after him, laughter echoing across the snowy cliffs.

They rose together, dragons spiraling back toward the sanctuary.

 

Hiccup had never felt this warm.

Not even during the great hall feast in Berk, wrapped in fur-lined cloaks, packed with vikings beside roaring fires. No, this was different. Despite the cold winds tickling his ears as they soared through the skies, his cheeks were flushed, and his grin refused to fade. His heart threatened to jump right out of his chest.

Valka, his mother, was alive.

Not lost. Not swallowed by fire or a dragon. Alive. And flying beside him like she’d never left at all.

His frustration at both her and Stoick’s refusal to talk sense into Drago evaporated pretty quick. It didn’t matter right now. Not when he had this rare, miraculous chance to know the woman he took after, the one his father sang tales of.

They didn’t stop talking the entire flight.

Hiccup rambled on about the moment he shot down Toothless, how the night fury had saved him, minus a leg, of course. In return, Valka shared how Cloudjumper had taken her not as a foe, but as a companion. How she’d learned from dragons, lived among them. Reiterating how deeply sorry she was.

And Hiccup… as much as he’d missed her, he’d survived. He’d had Toothless. He’d had the other riders. And now, now, he had Jack.

The thought of Jack sent his heart skittering like a terrible terror chasing a sheep. Those eyes, those impossible, vivid blue eyes, lingered on his mind like rust on metal. He had tried to pretend it was simple fascination. A curiosity. Jack was probably the only dragon hybrid in the world,of course Hiccup was intrigued.

But the longer he’d known him, the clearer it became.

He was smitten.

Head-over-heels for the boy who once crouched feral in the shadows of a cave, speaking through growls and flicks of a tail. Back then, Jack had been mystery incarnate, like stumbling on a north mythology in the flesh. He had made every cog in Hiccup’s brain spin with excitement.

And yet, it hadn’t stayed fascination. Not when Jack began to heal. Not when he transformed before their eyes, from haunted to hopeful. Jack had lived alone for so long, his heart clamped shut with the cold. But slowly, that ice melted into laughter. Into teasing, into playfulness.

Dragons’ Edge had never felt more like home than when Jack was there.

Somehow, the hybrid had worked his way into every nook of their lives. He steered Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s chaos into actual jokes, less destruction more joy. He learned runes with Fishlegs, who nearly cried with joy at having a him as a student. Even Snotlout, who denied it furiously, had warmed up. Everyone saw through it, especially when the stout Viking started lurking around Jack’s favorite lookout spots under the pretense of “strategic patrol.”

Astrid had been the first to reach Jack. She broke through his fear of touch and taught him to trust. Hiccup couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy seeing how easily they connected.

And that envy came with guilt.

He hadn’t tried to get to know Jack hard enough, he didn’t ask about how he knew human language, not how long he’d been alone, not if there were others like him. Every time the twins got too nosy about scars or family, Jack would shrink in on himself, and Hiccup would swoop in to shut it down. But in private? In quiet moments they shared in his hut, he never dared ask the deeper questions.

He didn’t want to break the fragile thing they had.

And now, ironically, his mother had learned more about Jack in a single afternoon than he had over months.

He sighed, lost in thought, when Valka broke the silence like she’d plucked it straight from his brain.

“You’ve told me about Toothless,” she said with a knowing smirk. “What about Jack?”

Hiccup coughed into his hand, cheeks flaring. “What about him?”

Valka arched an eyebrow, amused. “How on earth did you find him?”

Hiccup smiled wistfully. “Well… technically, he found me.”

His voice grew soft, almost reverent. “He’s practically invisible when he wants to be. If he hadn’t grabbed me, or if the hunters hadn’t stirred him up, we’d have flown past his island without a clue.”

He shuddered at the thought. Jack, alone in his cave, occasionally fending off dragons and trappers to protect the little sliver of peace he’d carved out. No laughter. No connection. No smile just for Hiccup.

So he told Valka everything.

How Jack had been tending baby dragons when they stumbled into his life. How he’d saved Hiccup despite his fear. How they’d attacked him by accident and brought him back to Berk to heal. How Stoick, driven by good intentions banished Jack despite everything.

Hiccup’s voice tightened at that part.

Still, leaving Berk had been a blessing. Jack flourished at Dragons’ Edge. When he recovered he chose to stay. He stayed. That mattered more than anything.

“So you wanted him to stay, yes?” Valka asked, watching Hiccup’s lovestruck expression as they touched down.

“Of course I did,” Hiccup sighed, arms falling limp at his sides.

Valka’s lips curved, just slightly.

“Why?” she asked gently.

“What?” Hiccup blinked, startled.

“Why didn’t you just relocate him after he recovered? Why build him a home, surely not every dragon you saved stayed in the island?”

“I-I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his wind-knotted hair. “He doesn’t belong out there. He belongs with us. With… me.”

The last word dropped out like a confession. Almost too quiet for the Valka to hear. But she did.

“With you?” Valka asked, arms crossed, brow rising.

“That’s not what I meant!” Hiccup sputtered, practically tripping over his own tongue.

“Isn’t it?” Valka stepped close, hand landing gently on his shoulder. Her voice softened. “You care for him. Don’t you?”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know. Yes. M-maybe? He’s wonderful. He’s amazing. But he’s in so much pain, Mom.”

He didn’t notice he’d said it.

Valka did. And her smile, tender and bittersweet, deepened.

“I don’t even know if he feels the same way,” Hiccup muttered, voice cracking under the weight of everything.

Valka tsked, half-scolding, half-motherly. “Hiccup. From what you told me, he lived in isolation. Functioned like a dragon? And fir Thor knows for how long. If he does feel the same way, he might not even know how to show it.”

She turned to gaze at the sanctuary, wind tugging at her cloak.

“He wouldn’t know how to take the first step,” she said quietly. “So you might have to do that for him. Before someone else snatches him up.”

She tilted her head, mock-serious. “He is quite handsome.”

Hiccup’s face combusted. “Moooom!”

Valka laughed, throwing her head back.

Then, gently, she met his eyes again. “If you wait too long, you’ll never know.”

Hiccup looked out over the sanctuary, the dragons, the calm waters below.

“Y-yeah,” he whispered.

 

Night had began to spread its bruised colors across the sky when the Bewilderbeast appeared at last, its enormous form breaking through the horizon like a floating island made of ice. Head and upper body gliding above the water with regal ease, the titan swam forward toward the cliff face, each motion carving deep ripples into the sea far below.

It was just in time, too, Hiccup had been growing increasingly jittery, shifting his weight from foot to prosthetic with nervous ticks. Scratch that, he was bordering on frantic now.

His eyes scanned the air, searching desperately for any sign of white wings cutting through the dusk. But the air remained empty. Quiet. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

“Jack? Jaaaack?” His voice cracked through the wind, tinged with panic now.

Valka was rushed beside him, her eyes calm. She gently placed a finger to her lips and gestured toward the giant, who was gliding toward their ledge with eerie, deliberate stillness.

Hiccup followed her gaze, and then he saw it.

Nestled just above the brow line, behind a protective line of quills and ridges, Jack lay on the dragon’s massive head. His limbs splayed in soft abandon, tail hanging off one side, wing draped like a blanket. His breaths fogged the air faintly around him. Peaceful and silent.

Hiccup let out a soft laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders in waves.

As the beast closed the distance, Valka hooked her staff into one of the great his quills and vaulted herself onto its crown. The surface was vast, big enough to host at least a few Viking ships. Jack had made it look like the coziest patch of grass in the world. A sleeping spot worthy of a boy who embodies winter.

The Bewilderbeast didn’t stir.

It had grown fond of Jack, just like Hiccup and his friends did. That much was clear.

Valka knelt beside him and signaled to Cloudjumper, who swooped in quietly to pluck Hiccup from the cliff. The boy landed with a surprised yelp beside them, catching his balance with an awkward step.

He crouched near Jack and placed a tender hand on the boy’s snowy hair.

“Little warning next time?” he whispered with a crooked grin. But the words held no bite.

Carefully, he slid his arm beneath Jack’s chest, wings, tail, and limbs dangling like loose. Despite Jack’s slender frame, the added weight of draconic anatomy made Hiccup stagger slightly as he rose.

Valka busied herself clearing Jack’s tail from the quills, guiding the sleeping boy away from the ridge as the Bewilderbeast leaned gently into the cliff face like a ship docking at harbor. Together, mother and son carried Jack to a soft, grassy patch.

Toothless arrived seconds later, curling around Jack’s body protectively. A low, rumbling hum filled the air as the night fury nestled into place, guarding his sleep.

Hiccup stood watching the quiet scene, heart too full for words. Valka stepped beside him with a smile teasing her lips.

“Toothless seems fond of him too,” she said, nudging her son gently to shake him from his love-struck expression .

Hiccup exhaled. “He can talk to them, you know.”

“Toothless?”

“No,” he said, eyes on Jack, “Jack. He speaks to dragons, better than you or I ever could. We understand them, sure. But Jack… Jack is one of them. As much as he is one of us.” He trailed off, still watching the way Toothless’s wing curled around Jack. “Toothless is really protective of him”

Valka chuckled. “He’s not the only one.”

Hiccup ducked, hair ruffled by her teasing hand.

“Let’s settle for the evening, shall we?” she offered.

He nodded, sinking down beside Toothless with a sigh as Valka mounted Cloudjumper with fluid grace.

“Talk to you in the morning,” she called, voice warm.

“Yeah,” Hiccup replied, stretching lazily into Toothless’s flank. “Goodnight, Mom.”

Valka paused, breath caught in her chest. Her expression shifted, fragile, full.

“…Goodnight, son.”

 

Led through an icy crevasse between two massive icebergs, the dragon riders kept low as their mounts soared over ledges dusted with snow. The air was brittle, frozen still in the way it only gets when something is watching. Every breath steamed in the cold, and every footstep echoed off ice like a warning.

Stormfly didn’t care.

With a smug flick of her feet, the Nadder dropped Eret face-first into a snowbank. He spat snow and scrambled upright, only to be slammed down again as she landed full force atop him. He groaned.

“Okay, okay-I got you here. Now get this thing off me!” Eret barked from beneath a pile of scales.

Astrid hopped off, completely unbothered. “Never take a toy from a dragon. Don’t you know anything?” she said, striding to a nearby ledge and peering out over the drop.

Stormfly cozied into her spot, casually shoveling snow with her wings below herself, right into Eret’s face.

“Why does this keep happening to me?” came the muffled protest beneath he form.

The rest of the riders joined Astrid and froze at the sight before them.

A fleet of warships, not dozens, but nearly a hundred, encircled a central dome of bubbles, rising ominously from the frigid depths. Steam curled around the mass like breath from a sleeping beast. The army was camped over something. Something enormous.

“What’s down there?” Astrid asked, eyes narrowing.

Fishlegs was already fumbling through his deck of dragon cards, brow furrowed. “Massive air pockets… cold water… large diameter. I’m thinking deep-sea dweller. Leviathan class. Could be a 5, maybe even a 6.”

Before they could ponder the implications, danger struck.

Figures in bear skins emerged from the snow, creeping through the cracks in the ice. Stormfly, alert as ever, shot skyward with a shriek, but the other dragons weren’t so fast.

Red-tipped darts whistled through the air. One by one, the dragons collapsed with heavy thuds onto the ground. The riders turned, shouting, Fishlegs bolted down the slope screaming “MEATLUG!” but it was too late. They were outmatched. Outnumbered. And now grounded.

When the enemy drew their weapons, Fishlegs tossed his cards skyward leaving his arms up in surrender.

 

They were moved onto the largest ship, where, Drago Bloodfist strode into view.

“Drago!” Eret groaned and shook off one of the mercenaries. “Get off me, haha, always great to see you, my friend. Keeping warm up here?”

Drago grinned like a shark.

“As you can see,” he growled, “I am right on time, with a new batch of dragons. Just like I promised.”

A nearby trapper was too busy admiring Fishlegs’ cards to notice Hookfang writhing under his bindings. The monstrous dragon twisted, snapped the ropes around his neck, and lashed out. With his head thrashing, Hookfang sent men flying, managing to clamp down on one and chuck him overboard. There was a short “whoop” from Snotlout.

“Give me some backup here!” shouted the trapper.

“Watch out!” someone yelled.

“Drop the ropes!” Drago barked.

The trappers released the bindings fully around Nightmare’s head and neck. Hookfang surged forward, facing down Drago and releasing a torrent of fire.

Drago didn’t flinch. He raised his cloak, blocking the blast with cruel abandon. The heat didn’t even scorch the fabric, and left him completely untouched.

Eret clutched the scar on his chest absently. The others watched in stunned silence.

Hookfang bellowed with fury. Drago… bellowed back.

He charged forward, roaring like a mad beast, swinging his jagged weapon. Hookfang faltered, unsure whether to attack or retreat. The man was not normal.

As the fire dragon lowered his head with a reluctant whimper, Drago stepped onto his snout.

“Hookfang!” Snotlout cried out.

“What are you doing?” Astrid growled, seething.

“You belong to me now,” Drago hissed, pressing harder.

He paused, eyes catching the saddles strapped to the Nightmare and the others. Riders. He missed the way Hookfang’s eyes seethed with silent hatred, not submission.

“And as an added bonus… I caught their riders, too. No extra charge.” Eret supplied.

“What?! Are you kidding me?” Astrid snapped.

Ruffnut sighed dramatically. “Ugh. You were so perfect…”

“Turns out there’s a whole bunch of ‘em out there,” Eret tried, but Drago silenced him with a snarl, gripping him by the throat.

“How many?” he growled.

“Drago doesn’t have them after all…” Astrid muttered under her breath.

“HOW MANY?” Drago roared.

“A whole island full,” Astrid spat, defiant.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Eret gasped. “My men are tracking them down as we speak. They won’t know where your hiding place is, I promise-“

“Oh yes, they will,” Astrid interrupted, voice rising. “They know we’re missing. And they have tracking dragons. If you so much as touch us, Hiccup is going to-”

“Hiccup?” Drago echoed, pausing.

“He’s not a problem, really,” Eret insisted.

“He’s only the son of Stoick the Vast,” Astrid said coolly, “heir to the throne of Berk, and the greatest dragon master the world has ever seen.”

“Dragon master?” Drago spat, amused. “I alone control the dragons!”

“Uh… nu-uh?” Tuffnut smirked.

“Sorry,” Fishlegs added cheerfully.

The group laughed.

“And unless you let us go right now,” Astrid warned, “he will tear through this fleet on his Night Fury. Splinter your ships. Freeze your engines mid-sail as he commands the Frostbite-a dragon who single-handedly sank seventeen of your ships without blinking.”

“They’ll be crying like babies,” Ruffnut added with a grin.

“Funny and beautiful,” Snotlout chimed in.

“Good one, babe,” Fishlegs muttered, to which Ruffnut groaned, “Ugh.”

“Heh-babies always cry,” Tuffnut added proudly. “Like real tiny ones.”

Drago hauled Eret upright again. His grip tightening.

“You lost me how many ships to a single dragon?”

“He’s not exactly… a dragon,” Eret wheezed. “He’s more of a… hybrid.”

Drago paused, teeth gritted. “Hybrid?”

Eret gulped. “Some kind of human-dragon monster. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Drago scoffed, ready to dismiss the story as a desperate attempt to buy time, when a trapper stepped forward, gloved hands holding a stack of cards.

Without ceremony, Drago snatched it away and tossed Eret aside.

The riders paled. Fishlegs turned white.

Drago held the first card up.

A tall, sinuous creature stood in a swirl of snow. Long limbs, tail curling like smoke. Its chest and face were unmistakably human, save for the glint of fey smirk and glowing eyes. The skin shimmered in icy hues; frost motifs adorned its frame. The title at the bottom shimmered like metal powder.

THE FROSTBOUND PRINCE.

Drago’s eyes bulged.

“One rider… then all of Berk… A BOY BLESSED BY SKADI HERSELF?!” he roared. “And YOU LED THEM TO ME?!”

“Drago-” Eret rasped weakly.

“Stop all preparations!” Drago bellowed to the fleet. “We attack their nest at once. We bring down their Alpha and the Halfling. And then… we take Berk!”

The warcries erupted across the the armada like a thunderstorm.

“Drago!” Eret pleaded.

“Get rid of him.” Drago gestured coldly.

Eret scrambled backward as armed soldiers advanced, spears raised.

Just as the blades reached him, Stormfly dove from above, her scales rippling, wings slicing the air. She slammed into the soldiers with a defiant screech, shielding Eret with her body. Managing to get some of the offenders with her tail spikes.

Then-

A dart hit her square in the side. She grunted once… and collapsed.

“Stormfly! NO! ” Astrid screamed, yanking at her bindings.

Eret stared, stunned into silence.

The dragon who had spent all day tormenting him… had just saved his life.

 

Jack woke up to the chirping song of dragons.

It thrummed through the sanctuary like a heartbeat, wild and mirthful, for a heartbeat, panic clutched his chest. But then he remembered where he was. A low, familiar warmth pressed against his side. He blinked up into dark scales, the gentle rise and fall of Toothless’s chest reassuring him.

With a soft croon, Jack greeted the night fury. Toothless rumbled in reply, satisfied, his wing folded back so Jack could move. Jack rose, stretching his body with a yawn, wings fluttered, tail arced he gave a curious chuff.

Toothless tilted his head in reply, gesturing toward Hiccup, still curled in sleep on the other side of him. Jack nodded, disentangling himself from the shared warmth of the dragon pile.

He glided into the larger cavern, wings slicing through the gold-dappled air. Dragons spiraled lazily overhead, their colors brilliant against the morning reflections. Jack joined them with playful ease, chasing swirls of wind, diving into impromptu games of tag with a trio of zipplebacks.

A little later he spotted Valka standing near an arch of stone, one hand raised. He landed lightly beside her, a broad grin splitting his face.

“Good mor-nin’,” he beamed.

“Indeed it is,” she replied, her gaze drifting toward her son.

Jack’s heart warmed. He knew well how seismic an impact Hiccup had on someone’s life.

“Could you let him know I’m off preparing breakfast in the tunnels?” she asked, voice low so as not to tempt the hungry residents with the scent of cooking fish.

Jack nodded, and with a quiet rustle, Valka and Cloudjumper vanished through a narrow crevice.

As Jack returned to their resting spot, Hiccup stirred, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jack crouched beside him, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You d-r-ool in your sleep.”

Hiccup snorted. “Har har. No, I don’t.”

But when Jack turned away, Hiccup discreetly wiped his chin just in case. Jack offered him a hand. Hiccup rolled his eyes but took it, the touch lingering as they pulled each other up. Their gazes locked briefly in a quiet, unreadable moment.

Toothless, got up rolled his eyes as he rumbled . He shoved his head between them, making both boys stumble backward, then smacked Hiccup lightly across the head with his tail as he passed.

“Ow!” Hiccup groaned.

Jack laughed, a sound with a ripple of draconic edge. Toothless padded off toward the tunnels.

Jack stepped to follow when Hiccup suddenly grabbed his hand.

“Wait!” he barked, the contact lingering too long. Jack tilted his head, eyes wide, ears twitching. Hiccup flushed red and released him.

“Uh, can… can we talk?”

Jack blinked, tilting his head further, adorably puzzled. “We are? Talking?”

Hiccup’s heart clenched. Odin, he’s too adorable.

“No-I mean…” he groaned, then seized Jack’s hand again, pulling him toward a ledge that overlooked the sanctuary.

They sat. Jack perched at the mossy edge, feet dangling into the void. Hiccup leaned back on his hands, collecting the courage to say what needed saying. Jack didn’t rush him. He gazed quietly at the dragons wheeling out of the cavern mouth, ears twitching every time Hiccup shifted.

After several long moments, Hiccup finally spoke.

“I owe you an apology.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Several, actually.”

Jack turned, brows furrowing.

“Ever since we crashed into your life, it’s been a whirlwind. We hurt you. Took you from your home. Put the babies, and your life, in danger. And…” his voice faltered, “I honestly don’t know why you’re still here.”

Jack looked wounded. His ears flattened slightly, tail flicking.

“Not that I’m not glad!” Hiccup said hurriedly. “It’s just… you’ve given so much. And I’ve barely asked anything about you. Because I was scared, or selfish, or just-”

Jack raised a hand, quietly halting the ramble.

“No,” he said, gulping as he prepared to speak. Words weren’t his strong suit. But he’d try.

“You-rr stupid,” he added plainly, flicking Hiccup’s forehead. Nodding to himself. Perfect execution.

Hiccup blinked.

“I’m happy,” Jack continued, the words slow but sure, accompanied by a brilliant, disarming smile that did nothing to slow Hiccup’s racing pulse. “I never had frien-ds before. A home.” He waved vaguely at himself. “Or at least… not since being like this.”

His gaze pinned Hiccup’s with startling clarity. “Meeting you, all of you, is the best thin-g that happe-ned to me.”

Jack pointed to himself, ears flared.

“You don’t know the parts of me that I don’t know. So most of it.”

He shifted slightly closer, curling his tail in a soft arc around Hiccup. It didn’t touch, just framed him.

“You ask. If I know, I’ll tell.”

Hiccup let out a nervous laugh, barely more than a breath. “I have so many,” he whispered.

Jack shifted, folding his long legs until he settled cross-legged in front of him. The sanctuary stretched out next to them, a mosaic of mist and dragons. Jack’s cerulean gaze stayed fixed on Hiccup, waiting and patient.

“How long have you been… like this?” Hiccup asked, his voice quiet but steady as he straightened, his knees brushing the moss between them.

Jack looked to the horizon. His tail flicked once behind him. “I’m not sure…” he murmured, his thoughts clearly distant. “The beginnin-g is… pre-pe-tu-al win-ter.” The word snagged on his tongue, so he waved it off. “I know now that it was me. When I learne-d to cont-rol it, I started feeling the seasons. Maybe 4-5 cycles.” He tilted his head. “Before that… winter was… long.”

He shrugged and tossed a pebble into the waters below. It vanished without a splash. His shoulders remained tense, tail twitching even though his face remained calm.

“By Odin…” Hiccup murmured. “You must’ve been so small.”

Jack looked maybe seventeen, eighteen at most. But if he had endured years in that state, the injury must have come early, too early. Scales etched across his body like nature’s armor, but they weren’t decorations. They were scars in disguise.

“D-do you remember how you got hurt?” Hiccup asked gently.

Jack’s ears flattened tight against his hair. “Uhm, I-i think so? I remember… toes. Hu-man ones?” He flexed the talons where feet once were, pressing them into the moss. “They we-re bl-ack… or-” His pupils narrowed, slitting like a dragon’s. “And ice… lots of it. It was breaking and-” A visible shudder. “I could-n’t brea-the.”

His chest rose, tight and quick, breath catching. Hiccup reached out and gripped his hand firmly. Jack looked up.

“I-think I d-r-owned.”

Frost began spreading beneath them, ice whispering from Jack’s skin to the earth. But Hiccup didn’t flinch. He stared, horror growing behind his eyes. In Berk, that kind of blackness only ended one way. For a child… in freezing water… .Where were his parents?

“Do you remember your mom?” Hiccup asked, knuckles whitening on his other hand.

Jack’s pupils slowly dilated again. “She’s won-derful,” he said softly. “She took me in. Gave me tu-na!”

Hiccup blinked, confused. “Wait-you remember your mom?”

Jack’s eyes went wide in alarm. “NO—NO! HUFF-JAW!” he blurted out as if that name explained anything.

Hiccup just stared. Jack fumbled for words. “Mother. She’s mom to the oth-er-s. My sib-lings. My ice was good for them.”

Hiccup’s mind clicked slowly. “The baby Thunderpedes? Their mom took you in?”

Jack nodded, smiling wide. A small glow returned to him, his tail curling upward in joy.

“She’s the mom I know… I hope she’s okay.”

“You named her Huffjaw?” Hiccup asked.

Jack’s smile turned mischievous. “Yeah. She always did this!” He puffed his cheeks dramatically and sighed like an exhausted guardian.

Hiccup chuckled. “Did you name the babies, too?”

Jack turned toward the sanctuary, eyes fond. “Crack-le, Burp, Whist-le, and Fizz.” Then he gestured toward the sleeping Bewilderbeast. “And that’s Chillwhompus.”

Hiccup choked on a laugh.

“His friends call him Whompus!” Jack nodded proudly, tail thumping. Hiccup’s grin mirrored his, growing with every joyful thump.

They sat for a moment, hand in hand, until Jack stilled. Noticing hiccups biting his inner cheek, he often did when he planned something.

“I can feeel you thin-king,” he said, throwing his head back. “It’s louuud.” His voice lowered as he turned toward him again. “You can ask.”

Hiccup hesitated. “What do you remember? From before, I mean?”

Jack shrugged. The smile on his face faltered slightly. “Not mu-ch.” He scratched his head. “Bits and pie-ces. A sister—I think. She hugged me.” His eyes glazed over. “There was a forest. A friend there. A place with toys and sweet smells.”

He hummed quietly. A tune. Just a note or two, carried on the cavern wind like whisper. Ethereal and haunting. “A song”

“I was loved,” Jack whispered.

Hiccup’s heart clenched.

“We’ll find them. I promise-” His voice had the edge of a leader again. Brave. Determined.

But Jack interrupted. “I kno-w where they are.”

Hiccup leaned forward. “Then we’ll go-”

“No.”

Jack’s voice was quiet. Final.

“When I woke up,” he said, his gaze distant again, “and I saw mysel-f, I was… scared. I didn’t know why. Just… drag-ons. They terrified me. Even though I was one.”

He pulled his hand from Hiccup’s to stare at it, scaled and strong, barely resembling the delicate fingers he dreamed of carving with.

“There’s no dragons where they live. I don’t think. If they saw me…” his voice cracked. “Saw the mon-ster I’ve be-come.”

Jack’s voice trembled as he lowered his head. “I can’t bear them looking at me like that. Scared. It’s better this way. The dock… had flo-wers.They think I’m gone. They made peace with it a long time ago.”

Hiccup’s face was pain. “No,” he breathed. Then firmer. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“You’re not some monster.”

Hiccup leaned closer, reaching again. “You’re not something from a nightmare, Jack. You’re from a fairy tale.”

Jack didn’t look up.

“Jack. Look at me?”

Slowly, cautiously, Jack lifted his gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” Hiccup said.

Jack snorted, looking away.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

Hiccup pressed his forehead to Jack’s, who’s giggles were bubbling to the surface. He looked at hiccup, but the perspective made him burst out fully in laughter. Hiccup could feel the erratic cold breath on his cheek. Jack was still shaking, light-headed.

“Stop laughing,” Hiccup tried, grinning as Jack wheezed.

“H-cupp you’re—” Jack gasped. “Bu-ti-ful.”

Hiccup couldn’t breathe either, for a whole other reason.

“You-just…ugh,” he gave up, his train of thought lost. Jack’s breath tickled his cheek, cool like with tiny errand snowflakes.

Then Hiccup leaned forward, and kissed him.

Jack froze.

One agonizing second passed. All hiccup heard is his own thundering heart.

Just as he was about to pull away in horror, Jack smiled against his lips, and kissed him back.

They were breathless, first Jack then Hiccup laughing into the kiss, gasping between grins and exhales. Jack’s tail curled upward like a ribbon, brushing against Hiccup’s side.

When they pulled back, their faces were lit with matching expressions of disbelief and joy.

Before they could say anything Hiccup was yanked backward, a hand clamping over his mouth. Jack snapped up, eyes slit and wild, breath swirling into frost.

“Easy now,” emerged the voice behind hiccup.

Jack stopped immediately.

Stoick stood there.

And Jack blinked.

Hiccup tore himself from his father’s grasp, fury burning in his chest.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? How did you even get in here?” he whisper-shouted, half-panicked, half-embarrassed. His glance flicked back to Jack, who stood frozen, cold blush blooming across his cheeks

“Listen, we’re getting you out,” Stoick said firmly, handing Hiccup his helmet.

“WE?!” Hiccup echoed in disbelief.

Gobber emerged behind them, tossing Jack his helmet from where it had been abandoned on the grassy floor.

“All clear,” Gobber declared before disappearing back into the tunnels.

Stoick dragged Hiccup by the arm with the momentum of a boulder.

“Jack, come on,” he ordered, motioning behind him.

Jack followed, overwhelmed, his entire face a different shade. His eyes darted between Stoick and Hiccup, unsure what to do.

“W-wait, okay… DAD, Dad, there’s something you need to know,” Hiccup stammered, rushing beside him.

Still dragging, Stoick responded gruffly, “Yeah yeah, you can tell me about your boyfriend on the way.”

“Wait, this isn’t the on-the-way kind of update actua-what?” Hiccup faltered, eyes darting to Jack, who looked absolutely petrified. Hiccup fought a snort, pressing his hand over his mouth.

“I’VE HEARD ENOUGH, HICCUP,” Stoick barked from ahead, voice sharp as an axe-blade. The command yanked Hiccup back into reality, his blush replaced by tension.

“It’s more of the earth-shattering development variety…” Hiccup tried again, voice trailing.

Stoick grumbled as he hauled himself over a rocky slab, hand still clamped on Hiccup’s arm.

“Yeah? Well just add it to the pile,” he said, squeezing between two slabs before finally releasing Hiccup, who stumbled forward in pursuit.

“DAD! U-unlike most surprises I spring on you, this is one you’ll like!” he pleaded, twisting around to check on Jack, who was struggling to slip through the narrowing crevice. Wings and tail tangled, barely squeezing through.

“You just have to handle it delicately, so-”

Before Hiccup could finish, Gobber blocked their path. The blue glow spilling out ahead cast strange shadows across his face.

He turned, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Uhmm… you might want to take this one,” he said to Stoick, then walked back toward Jack, who wore a smug grin, already knowing what was about to happen. “Oh boy,” Gobber muttered, ruffling Jack’s hair, earning an offended grumble from the hybrid.

Stoick drew his sword instinctively and marched forward.

“Uhhh, Dad?” Hiccup hurried after him. “Could you… put the sword away, please?”

But Stoick didn’t listen. His gaze was fixed. His stance determined.

Until he saw her.

Valka.

She stood before a wall of glistening ice, framed in blue light. Her eyes met his, uncertain. Stoick froze. His sword dropped. Then his helmet.

“I know what you’re going to say, Stoick,” Valka’s voice cracked with emotion. “How could I have done this, stayed away all these years? Why didn’t I come back to you?” Her shoulders trembled. “To our son? What sign did I have that you could change, Stoick?” Her words spilled out like water breaching a dam. “That anyone on Berk could?”

She stepped back as he approached slowly up the incline, Cloudjumper and the dragons watching with unease. Toothless walked up to Hiccup, quiet and unsure also observing the scene.

“I pleaded for us to stop the fighting! To find another answer. But did anyone listen? No.”

Gobber leaned toward Hiccup and Jack. “This is why I never married,” he muttered. “This…and one other reason.” Jack covered his mouth, shaking with suppressed laughter.

Valka lifted her staff between them, as if it might shield her from the emotions. “I know I left you to raise Hiccup alone. But I thought he would be better off without me.” Tears welled in her eyes, her back pressed to the ice. “And I was wrong. I see that now.”

“Oh stop being so Stoick, Stoick! Shout, scream, say something!” she begged, voice cracking.

Stoick’s hand rose, slowly, tenderly, to the side of her face. His thumb brushed away a tear before it had the chance to fall.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered.

He lifted her chin. Her defenses softened.

And then he kissed her.

The dragons receded quietly, sensing no danger.

Hiccup exhaled, watching silently. All of it, his mother, his father, Jack at his side…it felt impossible.

It felt like a dream. But it wasn’t, this was only the beginning.

Notes:

DID IT WORK!!?! DIT IT?!?! I NEVER WROTE ROMANCE BEFORE?!?

FYI< this is why Jack laughed:

 

Chapter 10: I hate to see you go, but I love to see you fly away

Summary:

Buckle up chuckle f*cks

Notes:

Chapter 10

I hate to see you go, but I love to see you fly away.

During the writing of this I have:

1. Applied for a job

2. Disassembled (unscrewed a part) and fixed a washing machine (cleaned that part) . I am a plumber now. (I am not)

3. Got the said job. Ya gurl is like proper employed now decent benefits and everything.

The wind tore through the sails as Drago’s monstrous fleet surged ahead, cutting through the waves like a knife through butter. At its helm, his warship groaned, its hull slamming against the great iron chains that plunged into the depths below, rattling with Drago’s hits.

Behind him, several ships trailed in grim procession. On one of them, a group of prisoners shuffled forward beneath the threat of spears. Eret, led the line, his wrists bound tightly behind him, his eyes scanning the frigid waters that lapped hungrily below.

“Ugh,” Snotlout groaned, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Could this day get any worse?”

Tuffnut squinted into the sea mist. “Hmm… let me see, we could jump into freezing cold water and then die from drowning.”

Eret leaned forward just enough to peer over the edge of the deck. “Looks refreshing,” he said dryly, before turning toward Astrid. Two trappers held her back, struggling against her continuous attempts to shake free.

He tilted his head toward the icy water, smirking. “Ladies first.”

Astrid lunged as if to bash his skull in, teeth bared. “You steaming heap of dragon-”

“Duck,” Eret interrupted, his voice suddenly razor-sharp.

She did so instinctively. In one fluid motion, Eret spun and delivered a double kick, knocking both trappers off balance and sending them sprawling. Weapons clattered against the wood. Chaos erupted.

“Warn the others!” a voice shouted as Eret sliced his own bindings loose using a fallen spear. His brow lifted in challenge, defiant and daring.

“Get them, you son of an Eret!” Ruffnut cheered gleefully.

Spears flew through the air as Eret fought like a dancer in combat, twisting, striking, evading. But then came the hiss and whine of darts: dragon tranquilizers, red-tipped and deadly accurate. One by one, Drago’s men collapsed, drugged by their own weapons, as Eret used them in the space of shields.

Fishlegs roared and launched himself at a guard, tackling him with enough force to knock the man out cold on the deck. Eret grabbed a pipe from a fallen soldier, leveled it at the last man sprinting toward an alarm bell, and fired. The dart struck true, in neck, making the man tumble.

Ruffnut’s voice dropped an octave. “Okay, I love you again,” she declared, bounding toward Eret.

Snotlout sighed, disappointed.

Tuffnut looked amused. “Ugh, pathetic. You could still jump,” he teased.

Eret, breathing hard, looked to the group. “So, are we going to save your dragons and get out of here or what?”

Astrid hummed approvingly, smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Eret didn’t waste a second, he began slicing everyone’s bindings. “Check every trap. They’re here somewhere.”

They broke into pairs, scattering across the back of the massive ship. Each trap was a dome of iron and gears, some creaking ominously under the strain of what lay inside.

Astrid found Meatlug first. The Gronckle whimpered softly, bound far tighter than necessary. Astrid whispered soothing nonsense and worked quickly to free her.

Nearby, Eret was cranking open another trap. Ruffnut, assigned to keep watch, wasn’t watching the horizon, only his biceps.

“Anyone coming?” he asked, muscles flexing with effort.

Ruffnut sighed dreamily. “I don’t know. Just keep doing what you’re doing… keeep crancin’.”

With the trap open wide enough, Eret climbed in. Stormfly lay inside, quiet and observant. He approached gently, hand hovering uncertainly. As he stepped up to the dragon.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said, voice hushed.

Stormfly didn’t flinch. Instead, she pressed her snout into his palm. He exhaled slowly, astounded by the Nadder.

“Now, let me return the favor.”

At the far end of the deck, Fishlegs worked the rusted gears of another trap. Snotlout climbed into the opening, heat blasting his face immediately. He expected his companion but as he looked inside he laid eyes in the wrong reptile, he stopped mid-word.

“Hookf-uhmmm… Fishlegs?” he whispered, eyes wide. “Could you come here for a second?”

Fishlegs hurried over. His jaw fell open.

“Is that-?” Snotlout pressed.

“An adult furnace-type Thunderpede?” Fishlegs finished, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Y-yeah.”

Snotlout swallowed. “What are the chances that-”

“That she’s the babies’ mother?” Fishlegs said quickly, eyes blazing. “Based on the trappers’ trajectory near Jack’s island, the rarity of the subspecies, and the fact that she’s female-I’d put it at a solid 97%!”

Snotlout scrambled back out of the trap dome. “I saw some buckets to the side. I’ll bring water to cool her down,” he whispered, determination settling into his expression as he bolted off.

 

The fire crackled softly as Jack sat beside Grump, the dragon’s steady breathing grounding him from his earlier stupor. Sunlight filtered through the gathering mist outside, and inside the cavern carved into the sanctuary’s tunnels, warmth flickered from the fire as they sat.

Hiccup was buzzing. Hopeful, restless. His voice danced as he turned to Valka, gesturing toward the the air wildly as his mother sliced the fish.

“Mom, you’d never even recognize it,” Hiccup said, eyes bright. “Where we used to make weapons, we now build saddles, wing slings… we even fix dragon teeth! You wouldn’t believe how everything’s changed.”

Jack watched Valka tense. She was trying. But Jack knew too well that look, the one that crept in when too many people crowded in on someone who was alone for so long.

Stoick reached out gently, laying a hand on Valka’s shoulder. “Ah, your son has changed Berk for the better. I think we did well with this one, Val.”

Jack felt the jolt that hit her like thunder. He glanced down, it was not his place to step in. Valka dropped the fish platter. Cloudjumper swooped in hungrily, swallowing all the fish in one swift motion. Toothless crooned sadly beside him, after a moment of thinking, the larger dragon hacked up some of the fish. The Night Fury joyfully slurped up the regurgitated bits. Tp the absolute horror of Jack.

“I’m, -uh, a little out of practice,” Valka muttered as Stoick handed her another plate, tenderness in every gesture.

“Well, you know…” he smiled. “I didn’t marry you for your cooking.”

“I hope not. Her meatballs could kill more beasts than a battle axe,” Gobber snorted, settling by the fire as Hiccup handed him a platter. “I’ve still got a few knockin’ around in here! Ha!” After tasting the fish he frowned, immediately passing the food to Jack and Grump.

“And once you move back in, with all your dragons…” Hiccup’s voice was soaring now. “Oh, Drago won’t even stand a chance. Everything will be okay!”

Valka flinched. Jack winced for her, he knew that tone, the rush of hope too big for a cracked heart to hold.

“Slow down, son. It’s a lot to take in,” Stoick said, placing a grounding hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. Fatherly. Jack stared a moment. Unused to seeing Stoick act as a father, not a chief. It was unceasingly hard to hate this guy.

Valka moved to fill a water pitcher. Stoick started whistling softly behind her.

“Oh, I love this one,” Gobber murmured.

The whistling grew stronger. Valka froze. Just before the pitcher slipped from her grip, Stoick stepped in, catching it gently and setting it down.

“Remember our song, Val?” he whispered.

Valka clutched her arms tightly, closed off. Jack felt the urge to move, but Gobber placed a hand on his arm. Steady. Don’t interrupt.

Then Stoick sang:

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas
With ne’er a fear of drowning.”

Hiccup’s face was lit up in wonder.

“And gladly ride the waves of life
If you will marry me.”

Still, Valka didn’t move. Stoick’s voice lifted slightly, coaxing her forward.

He reached out, caressing her cheek.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold will st—”

“WILL STOP ME ON MY JOUR-NEY!” Gobber belted out, leaping to his feet.

Jack smacked his arm. Hiccup waved frantically, eyes darting between his parents. “Sorry,” Gobber stammered as Stoick shot him a look sharp as Scullcrushers teeth.

With a sigh, Stoick continued. He took Valka’s hand gently, pressing it against his thundering chest.

“If you will promise me your heart…”

She turned away, eyes closed tight. Stoick’s heart ached, with a sigh he began to withdraw before a voice joined him. Soft and hesitant.

“…And love me for eternity.”

Stoick gasped. Valka’s gaze met his at last. Her hand lifted, a motion Jack didn’t understand,until he saw Hiccup’s glowing expression. Something good then.

She sang:

“My dearest one, my darling dear,
Your mighty words astound me.”

Their hands touched mid-air, swaying in a rhythm only the two of them knew.

“But I’ve no need of mighty deeds
When I feel your arms around me.”

Stoick laughed, a deep, rolling sound. He took the lead:

“But I would bring you rings of gold,
I’d even sing you poetry!”

Valka leapt over his bent leg with a graceful “Whoo!”

“Oh, would you?” she teased.

They danced now, hands locked, moving with fluid joy.

“And I would keep you from all harm
If you would stay beside me!”

Valka spun, cheeks flushed.

“I have no use for rings of gold,” she sang brightly.

Hiccup was elated, looking between his parents and Jack. Like can you believe this? But Jack only saw Hiccup’s expression. Pure. Unfiltered. Beautiful.

“I care not for your poetry.
I only want your hand to hold…”

They spun faster, laughter bouncing off the walls.

“I only want you near me!” Stoick sang.

Then, together:

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold!
For the dancing and the dreaming!”

Gobber stomped his peg leg to the rhythm, adding percussion with every joyful thump.

“Through all life’s sorrows and delights,
I’ll keep your laugh inside me!”

Gobber cackled. “Come on, boys!” He hoisted Jack and Hiccup, one under each arm, spinning them around. Jack tucked his limbs in, grinning with exhilaration, laughing at the face Hiccup made when picked up.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas
With ne’er a fear of drowning!” Gobber joined in with heroic gusto. Settling Hiccup down.

Who couldn’t tear his eyes away from his parents.

“And gladly ride the waves of life
If you will marry me!” The couple finished. Gobber didn’t, he held the final note.

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I’m still goiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!”

Jack winced, ears flattened. Still in Gobbers arms, ears right next to the man’s head. Toothless clawed at his own, whining in protest. Hiccup nudged Gobber’s belly. “I’m done,” he muttered, setting Jack down gently.

Stoick pulled Valka close by the waist, gaze soft.

“I thought I would have to die before we could have that dance again.”

Valka caught her breath, chuckling. “No need for drastic measures.”

“For you, my dear… anything,” Stoick said, kneeling before her.

“Will you come home, Val?” he asked. “Will you be my wife once again?”

Her face was torn. Then, Toothless stepped in, nudging her toward Stoick, eyes wide and gentle. Hiccup joined, stroking Toothless’ flank.

“We can be a family. What do you say?” Stoick asked, standing, hand outstretched.

Valka gazed at the little circle before her, husband, son and dragon… and whispered, nodding.

“Yes.”

Jack barely had time to react before Gobber launched into the group hug. “Great! I’ll do the cooking!”

The laughter rose like firelight. Jack sat back down beside Grump, heart suddenly heavy. He should only feel happiness. For Hiccup. For his family.

And he was happy. But envy twisted in his gut. He turned away.

He barely remembered what it was like, before the monster and the screams. The memorial by the docks still stood, flowers laid regularly by those who still mourned him.

They had loved him. They had moved on. He didn’t belong in their world anymore.

And Hiccup clearly belonged here, with laughter and music and love. Not with Jack. His claws dug into the dirt looking to the side, suddenly not bearing to look at the family picture before him.

Then Stoick’s voice cut through.

“Thank Odin you didn’t listen to me, son. We never would’ve found each other.”

Gobber stepped toward Jack, concern clear, but before he could speak, the walls shook.

A roar shattered the calm. Ice cracked. Hundreds of dragons thundered into motion, the sanctuary’s whole population, rising for battle.

Spires of ice crumbled. Valka ran out onto the ledge, wind sweeping her hair behind her.

Below, the army surged. Warships as far as the eye could see. Catapults. Traps. Soldiers. A flood of steel climbing toward her home. Winter was no longer the picture. War was.

 

Jack’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of his helmet, sliding it on with urgency. The moment it clicked into place, he was already storming past Gobber, steps thundering across the stone as he charged out onto the spire beside Valka. His breath frosted instantly, the air thick with war. Behind him, Hiccup’s voice.

“Jack, what’s going on?!”

Jack didn’t answer. Not in words. Instead, he crouched low beside Valka, scanning the chaos erupting below. Dragons clawed and twisted through the air, wild flares of color colliding mid-flight with plated beasts pushed to destruction. Soldiers marched across the snow dappled terrain, their traps snapping shut around landing dragons, catching wings and tails in jagged metal domes.

“Oh no…” Hiccup’s voice fell quiet with dread.

Valka snarled low in her throat, her eyes narrowing. Jack’s reply was just above a whisper. “Get your dragons.”

Then, without hesitation, he dove headfirst from the spire.

Like an arrow, Jack plunged into the maelstrom. His body tucked tight, he cut through the battle lines, ice glittering across his armor as he opened mid-flight into a wide arc, skimming between two wild dragons as they barreled into their enemies. Beneath him, soldiers raised nets, snares, and weapons, steel clanking against the cries of trapped dragons.

Jack twisted hard to avoid a flailing Windgnasher, its body chained and thrashing as Drago stepped past it unfazed.

“Whatever comes, keep hitting the mountain!” Drago barked, snow crunching beneath his iron boots. “We need to draw the Alpha out!”

Another burst of metal rang out, more dome traps snapped open, their cruel jaws revealing panicked dragons bound inside. One by one, rescuers flew down only to be caught mid-attempt. Jack gritted his teeth. He leaned into a steep descent, mist swirling off his trail as he coated fresh traps in thick, crystalline ice, rendering their mechanisms frozen and useless.

From the sky above came the hiss of a ballista bolt. Jack spiraled, barely missing its trajectory. Bodies of downed dragons plummeted, wings torn and limp, and Jack forced himself between them, dodging collisions by a breath.

Then a massive trap burst apart in a plume of green gas, out of the smoky ruin shot a Zippleback, twins grinning wildly at each end.

“SUUURPRIIIISEE, YEEEAHHH!” Tuffnut bellowed, arms flailing mid-flight.

Jack halted midair, heart thudding, narrowly missing a second ballista bolt. The fight pulsed with a different breath, metal domes cracked open one by one as familiar dragon riders burst free like meteors in reverse.

Stormfly surged up, Eret clinging to her for dear life. Meatlug roared beneath Astrid, eyes proud. Hookfang screamed skyward, riderless but determined. And Huffjaw the massive, thunderpede, soared overhead, both claws clutching a shrieking Fishlegs and Snotlout. Her roar rattled the air around her.

“What??” Drago bellowed.

Huffjaw dipped low, dropping Snotlout into Hookfang’s saddle and flinging Fishlegs to Meatlug. Astrid jumped over to her nadder with fluid grace, landing beside Eret.

“You really are full of surprises,” she shouted, flashing a grin at the pale-faced rider. “Let’s go!”

From all angles the dragon riders struck, Meatlug blasted a lava projectile into a catapult, Hookfang fried another trap to slag, the twins gassed a cluster of grounded dragons, and Astrid ignited the cloud with a well-aimed spark, burning the binds below.

The lone thunderpede glided behind them, following the pattern of her rescuers, she aimed for the traps. Forearms hammering down on metal snares with bone-breaking force. It wasn’t just dragons now, it was an army of seasoned flyers, honed through a lifetime of combat in the skies. The tide pf the turned.

“CUT. THEM. DOWN!” Drago screamed, gesturing furiously.

Bolas slashed through the clouds. One whizzed past Barf and Belch each head barely dodging, the sudden change of direction caused Ruffnut to fall. Her cry was immediate and desperate.

“ERET, SON OF ERET!”

She shouted for the closest rider, then plummeted, breath seizing, the ground rushing to meet her. Untill something warm and solid caught her. She blinked through her braids and confusion.

One twin now riding the wild thunderpede.

“Cooool,” she whispered. “No wonder Jack loves you.” She patted the Huffjaws massive head. “Now let’s mess them up.”

Explosive projectiles slammed into the ice spire behind Stormfly. Eret, Astrid, pushed closer and closer to the collapse. Cracks roared up the icy columns. A massive chunk the size of a Viking ship broke loose, descending with lethal speed.

But just before impact, a piercing whine split the air, followed by a blinding flash of blue light. The ice exploded into snowflakes, shimmering harmlessly as they scattered in the wind. Astrid saw Jack, seams of his armor glowing like molten sapphire, wings of frost unfolding behind him.

Another flash, orange this time, as Toothless blew apart more falling debris.

The pair dove in tandem, spiraling close to the snow before arcing up with breathtaking force. Jack drove ice into fresh traps, Toothless disintegrated others. The battlefield lit up with the roar of defiance.

“YEAH BABY!” Hiccup whooped from above.

Arrows aimed skyward at Jack and Toothless, but before the line could fire, Gobber descended with Grump.
“Heeeaaads up!” He cried.
The Hotburple’s sheer mass crushed the archer squad as his mace-like tail swept across them like bowling pins. Gobber chuckled. “Like I’ll let you shoot me kid down before he gets his own room…”

Toothless launched into a blur, supersonic. A net arced in his way, Hiccup didn’t see it. Jack did. One icy bolt shattered it in midair. Their movements synchronized perfectly, momentum stalling as they hovered together at the apex of their flight.

A high-five cracked between hybrid and viking. Then they split, diving into opposite vectors for another assault.

Drago clenched his fists, eyes wide.

“Frostbound Prince and his Dragon Master…”

Jack and Hiccup converged on Astrid and Eret, wings roaring past each side. Hiccup flipped his helmet with a grin.

“Welcome aboard, Dragon Rider.”

Eret chuckled nervously, clutching Stormfly’s spine. “Thanks… I think.”

Jack banked close, helmet already flung open. Cold pulsing from his breath.

“I s-wear, everyone I hold a grud-ge agains-t ends up being super heroic.”

Eret yelped, narrowly avoiding a collision with Toothless. Jack flashed a wicked smile.

“It’s getting annoying.” He added.

“IT CAN SPEAK?!”

Astrid rolled her eyes, ignoring the Eret, looking at Hiccup. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, you know, catching up with Mom.” Hiccup gestured upward.

And there stood Valka, tall and calm atop Cloudjumper. She moved with unearthly grace, her hooked staff raised high. Behind her, the Bewilderbeast exploded from the glacier, smashing ice spires like they were twigs, roaring fury into the storm.

“That’s your MOTHER?!?” Astrid gaped.

Eret’s jaw dropped.

Hiccup shrugged, smirking. “Well, now you know where I get my dramatic flair.”

Jack snorted as Hiccup flipped his helmet back down, al, cocky. Jack winked at Eret, who almost crashed a second time..

Then Toothless and Jack veered off one toward the trap lines, the other toward the titan.

 

Chillwhompus tore through the frozen spires like thunder crashing into glass. Shards of ice exploded outward as the beast descended with fury, his roar reverberating across the battlefield like an avalanche awakened. In front of him, Valka soared atop Cloudjumper, diving headfirst into war’s open maw, her staff raised, her expression determined under her helmet.

From his vantage, Drago squinted upward, eyes narrowing as the glacial mist revealed what rose from the nest.

“The Alpha…” he muttered darkly, lips curled. “Now we have a fight.”

The Sanctuary’s Bewilderbeast lifted his enormous head, tusks trembling with power. His bellow was not just sound, but a seismic pressure that shook across the battlefield, sending ripples through land and sea. Then came the ice. Cold burst from his maw and covered the ground in waves, freezing traps and war machines into haunting sculptures mid-motion. Soldiers caught in the breath screamed as they iced over, their final motions preserved like fossilized horror.

Valka swept low, her Sanctuary’s dragons now under coordinated command. Zipplebacks ignited themselves , rolling on the ground aflame, wheeled juggernauts. Goretutters charged through debree filled smoke, lava dripping from their twisted antlers as they barreled through the enemy lines, unstoppable forces of nature.

One Zippleback’s charge faltered, it slammed into a trap that clamped its torso with sickening thud. Toothless, reacting with instinctual speed, banked at a knife’s edge. His wings tucked, momentum utilized, a blast of plasma tore through the trap’s base with surgical precision. The dragon twisted free as Hiccup dove low, hugging his mount’s spine, nothing but a blur now, silhouette stitched into the wind.

Jack was already in the thick of it.

He collided with an armored dragon atop Hubblegrunt, sending it careening with a tail lash before being snared mid-flight by a net. It snagged his wing, throwing off his balance, he crashed hard into the snowy crust, sliding and skidding across ice and stone. Snow sprayed as he stood with a snarl, ripping the net off with clawed hands.

And then Drago stepped forward.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said, voice vibrating with bloodthirst.

Jack pounced with unspoken fury, tail swinging wide with force, slamming into the warlord’s side. The impact sounded like ot cracked bone. He followed up with twin bolts of ice, sharp and wicked, one to the shoulder and the other to the leg.

After catching his breath, Drago laughed.

“You think that’s ice?”

He roared as his pike spun like a whirlwind, cutting through the air as the ground began to tremble. The sea parted not by a tide, ships rocking violently as a second Bewilderbeast rose from the depths. Massive and ancient, the darker leviathan crushed iron traps and vessels alike beneath its weight, every step a drumbeat of apocalypse.

Hiccup floated nearby, helmet lifted in sheer disbelief. “Another one?!”

“That’s a Class Ten! Class Ten!” Fishlegs shrieked as the beast continued its march, displacing siege towers like driftwood.

Drago was unrelenting, shouting his orders as though his voice could command gods.

“COME ON! Take down the Alpha!”

Jack lunged toward the pike, aiming to end the warlord’s command, but Drago twisted, driving the weapon into Jack’s shoulder. He slammed the hybrid to the ground. Jack howled with the roar of both man and dragon, clawing, writhing, trying to rise. But Drago just twisted the weapon and pressed a boot to his chest, pinning him down further with a growl.

Jack thrashed, defiant. Draconic cries echoed off the cliffs as blood speckled the snow. Drago ripped the pike from his body without hesitation, ignoring the scream that followed. Then, he jabbed the now-bloodied weapon into Jack’s helmet, twisting and tearing it off.

Their eyes met.

Jack saw no triumph. No mockery.

Just a flash of recognition, terror, then fury.

“YOU?!” Drago roared, and swung his weapon to end it.

But fate had its own timing.

Far from that cliff, Huffjaw surged through the air. She didn’t know this land, but her instincts were iron. Her trust lay not in terrain, but in scent, in the feel of the wind, the rumble of dragons who moved with family beneath their scales. These strange humans weren’t filled with fear. They smelled of smoke, of ash and fire, and something deeply familiar.

She joined their aerial assault without hesitation.

With Ruffnut clutching to her neck, slicing at ropes and dodging bolas with chaotic glee, Huffjaw turned skyward. Heat pooled in her throat as her lava core ignited.

“Big Mama, I think I need to hop off soon, my tushie is getting too toasty!” Ruffnut yelped. Huffjaw barely acknowledged it. She didn’t understand the strange human and the battle consumed her focus.

Then came the pull, the rider nudging her to climb. So Huffjaw surged into the clouds, finding herself among a Zippleback and other vikings atop dragons. One strange rider waved from twin dragons head, the other resting solitary. Huffjaw understood. The rider wanted to be whole again, and so did she.

She tilted her wings for the transfer. Ruffnut leapt and rejoined her twin. Before departing, she patted Huffjaw’s horn gently.

“She’s so badass, guys!”

Huffjaw rumbled low in reply, but her attention snapped instantly.

A pained cry, a sound the]at cut deep in her.

It was one of her babies.

Her pupils narrowed to slits, fury igniting like wildfire. She dove into the chaos with unmatched speed, her massive frame punching through dragons and steel alike. Traps bent. Armor cracked. Her wings tucked and body twisted to become a spear, and nothing in her path survived.

Then she saw him.

A man over her child, weapon raised.

Her roar was a thunderclap as steam poured from her jawsamd nostrils. Her horn struck the man squarely in the back, sending him flying with a scream. Jack lay wounded, cornered, but she placed herself in front of him, wings flared, scales lit with heat. Her growl was primeval, threatening and undeniable.

The battlefield shifted again, as the mother took her place.

Nothing on this field could ignore her now.

Drago stormed forward, boots hammering the frozen ground, his face twisted with fury. Huffjaw sank low, her massive forearms gouging the ice in a territorial display, teeth bared and wings flared. But before the enraged man could close the distance, an armored figure vaulted between them, hooked staff spinning with practiced grace, halting the madman’s advance.

Huffjaw didn’t recognize the newcomer’s scent, but gratitude bloomed in her chest regardless. The brief reprieve gave her precious seconds to glance back. Her baby. The scent of his blood made her flinch, but Jack was awake, staring at her. A soft, broken croon escaped his throat. She answered with her own, low and full of worry.

But Drago wasn’t slowing down. He surged with new strength, overpowering Huffjaw’s unlikely ally. She hesitated, torn between lunging to support or shielding Jack. Her decision came too slow, Drago raised his weapon for a killing blow.

A flash of steel intercepted him.

Stoick’s axe rang against Drago’s pike, sending the brute staggering. The battlefield trembled. Stoick grasped Valka’s arm and lifted her from ground.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gaze locked on him.

Stoick twirled his axe. “For you, my dear? Anything.”

Behind them, titams thundered, two Bewilderbeasts, enormous and ancient, collided like shifting glaciers. Their tusks gouged the sky as Stoick clashed with Drago, their battle echoing across a thr horizon. Huffjaw turned, watching Jack climb to his feet, clutching his shoulder.

“Jack?” Stoick called mid-swing. “You alright?

Jack nodded, breath hitching.

“Think you Val can stop them?’ Stoick asked between breaths.

“We’ll try,” Jack said, staggering up to stand. Huffjaw crooned, protective, as her boy launched upward, the hybrid’s wings slicing through the cold, Huffjaw right behind him.

Valka whistled, Cloudjumper kicked off two armored dragons and swept in mid-flight. She didn’t wait for him to land, leapt, hooked staff catching onto his wing.

Drago’s voice cracked like fire on bark. “You?! I watched you burn.”

Stoick charged. His head collided with Drago’s jaw, blow after blow raining down in tight formation. “Takes more than a little fire to kill me.”

The dragons roared, clouds trembled. The Bewilderbeasts clashed again, booming like avalanches. Cloudjumper bobbed and dipped between tusks and tails, trying desperately to signal peace. Valka’s rattle and pleads were ignored, drowned by the storm of dominance. They had no choice,swerved and dove, sweeping to safety as the titans collided again.

Drago swept Stoick’s axe aside and sent him flying. Unarmed, Stoick stumbled. Gobber flew overhead, tossing his mace-arm down with perfect aim. Stoick caught it and slammed the metal into Drago’s skull with a satisfying clang.

The darker Bewilderbeast surged, tusks pushing past Chillwhompus’ defenses. Repeated headbutts forced the mighty titan to rise onto hind legs, then to collapse onto the ground with an earth shaking groan. Jack soared in, before the beast could drive its tusks into its opponent.

His roar shattered the moment. Deafening. Unthinkable from someone so small. The battlefield froze.

The chained Bewilderbeast stopped. Its bloodshot eyes locked with Jack’s. Something rippled in them. Recognition?

Jack flapped harder, pleading. A fragile warble cracked from his throat.

“FINISH IT!” Drago roared, jabbing his pike in the direction of Chillwhompus.

The darker alpha looked between Drago and Jack. Jack whined, voice unsure. The creature shook its massive head, eyes narrowing again.

Then it roared and unleashed a torrent of ice.

Chillwhompus vanished beneath it’s layers.

Valka screamed, reaching out. “No!”

Hiccup gasped. Astrid and Eret sat frozen atop Stormfly. The battlefield shook in disbelief.

Jack shrieked in pain, retaliating. His Ice crackled against the bewilderbeast’s armored flank.

The titan loosed a devastating roar as dragons.armored and wild, began landing around him. They lowered their heads. The battlefield shifted. A fog crept into Jack’s mind. Buzzing. His wings faltered. Confusion clouded his vision.

Drago howled. “We’ve won! Now finish her!”

The alpha turned. Ice exploded toward Cloudjumper. Hitting his tailfin, the dragon spiraled down, Valka clinging tight. Jack jolted back to focus, as soon as the beasts attention shifted from him. He pelted the giant with ice, trying to keep him from targeting Hiccup’s mom more.

Then Valka slipped.

Stoick saw as Drago roared behind him. He slammed him aside, leapt onto Skullcrusher, and shouted for Gobber. But Grump already flew dazed towards the bewilderbeast.

Stoick climbed higher. Valka fell faster.

He jumped.

Mid-air, he caught her in his arms. The axe slammed into the icy wall, slowing their descent. They landed hard against a ridge. Stoick pulled Valka behind crystalline shards just before the Titan’s eyes could fell upon them.

Mostly thanks to the boy circling above, kepeeping the it distracted.

He couldn’t fathom why the beast hadn’t struck him down yet.

 

Hiccup scream to stop the chaos.

“Stop! STOP!”
His voice tore through the air, raw and desperate, as Toothless skidded to a halt beside Drago. With trembling hands, he ripped off his helmet, revealing a concerned expression.

Drago stepped forward, laughter rasping in his throat. “This is the great Dragon Master?” His lip curled mockingly. “The son of Stoick the Vast. What shame he must feel.”

Hiccup’s heart hammered as his gaze flicked to Jack, behind Drago, struggling against unseen chains, his form faltering, wings dragging in a losing battle with the Bewilderbeast’s oppressive will. “All of this loss… and for what?” Hiccup’s voice wavered. “To become unstoppable? To rule the world?”

Drago’s smirk deepened. “Dragons are kind, amazing creatures… that can bring people together.” Hiccup continued.
As the large man turned slowly, revealing the prosthetic limb he unclasped, shoulder carved and raw from a battle long past. “Or tear them apart.”

Hiccup scoffed, eyes flickering to his own metal leg. As if a missing limb justified all this.

“I know what it’s like to live in fear,” Drago breathed. His steps brought him face to face with Hiccup, looming like a stormcloud. “To watch my village burn… my family taken. I was younger, naive. But I rose above the fear. I vowed to free this world.”
He turned toward the Bewilderbeast, the crowned terror, who flicked Jack off with ease. Jack roared, wings fighting the very wind, the Alpha’s lure twisting into his blood.

“Then why a dragon army?” Hiccup questioned.

“You need dragons to conquer other dragons.” Dragon said like it was obvious.

“Or to conquer people,” Hiccup snapped. “To control those who follow you, and destroy those who won’t.”

Drago chuckled. “Clever boy.”

Hiccup stepped forward, resolute. “The world wants peace. And we have the answer back on Berk. Just let me-”

“NO!” Drago spat, venomous. “Let Me show YOU.”
His pike slashed through the sky as he bellowed, calling the Alpha. The mountain groaned with the creature’s weight. Ice cracked. The Bewilderbeast turned, forgetting Valka, and thundered toward Drago and Hiccup.

Jack shook his head violently, wings snapping open. The fog parted from his mind as he steadied mid-air, a mist spiraling from his lungs as he heaved.

“WHAT THE… HICCUP!” Stoick cried from above as Drago swung his staff again. Surveying the e scene from afar. Jack howled, trailing the beast as Stoick drew his attention to the threat. Shaking him out of his stupor.

Stoick and Valka tore down the mountainside, running past a wheezing gobber. “Come on, Gobber!”
The smith puffed, “Okay… change of plan!” Turned with a gasp and chased after them.

“No dragon can resist the Alpha’s command,” Drago growled. His pike turned, aiming now at Toothless.

The Alpha locked eyes. Quills vibrated, the world narrowed. Toothless whimpered, tail lashing in confusion.

“Toothless?” Hiccup whispered, uncertain.

Jack reeled back. An unholy shriek split the sky as ice blasted onto the Alpha’s face, coating its eyes in jagged spires. Jack roared, slicing through the clouds. Another breath, another impact, and the king flailed, blinded and enraged.

“Fine. Witness true strength!” Drago roared, raising his staff again.

The ice shattered, as the beast slammed its tusks against the ground.

The Alpha’s focus honed in on Jack. Tremors rocked the earth as the hybrid faltered, flapping desperately against the weight pressing inside his skull. A thrumming filled his bones, the Alpha’s call resonating too deep. His vision tunneled. Everything, air, noise, thought, folded into static.

“The strenght of will over others.”

Jack dropped hard between the viking and the warlord. His pupils slitted, twitching erratically. Hands jerked. He snarled, stumbling from two legs to four. Unrecognizable.

“In the face of it… you are nothing,” Drago hissed.

Jack turned. A snarl, hollow and bone-deep, echoed. His eyes, dragon, voided of reason, fixed on Hiccup.

“Uh… J-Jack?” Hiccup’s voice cracked. “What… what did he just tell you?”

Stoick ran down the slope, breath shallow, lungs burning. Jack stalked forward, mist curling from his lips.

“Jack? Come on. What’s the matter with you?” Hiccup’s hands trembled, stretched in plea. “No. No. Knock it off!”

Jack didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. Only blur. He was drowning.

“STOP! SNAP OUT OF IT!” Hiccup screamed as Toothless whimpered beside him.

Stoick chopped loose the broken beam, crossing the ice’s jagged split with unstoppable force. Gaining closer.

“Jack, NO! JACK!”
Drago turned away, satisfied.

Jack’s breath caught. White fire ignited in his throat, burning bright enough to illuminate his skull from within.

“Don’t,” Hiccup begged. “Please.”

“HICCUP!” Stoick roared.

“STOP!” Hiccup screamed, praying for his voice to reach Jack.

Stoick hurled himself forward, unrelenting.

“SON!”

“DAD-DON’T!” Hiccup shrieked-

The blast lit the world like a falling star.

A frozen spire erupted, rivaling the Alpha itself. Snow swirled down like ash.

Valka froze. Her gasp was a dagger.

Jack stood paralyzed. His body trembled, light fading from his chest. Panting, vacant.

Hiccup rose, silent. His gaze locked on Jack. Then the ice.

“No…”
He charged, sword drawn, slamming Inferno against the cold wall.

Drago glanced back once, then disappeared into the fog.

“DAAAD!”
Hiccup’s fists battered the ice, sword barely catching the surface.

Valka rushed in, breathless. “Stoick…” Her staff cracked again and again against the barrier, each hit weaker than the last. It didn’t budge.

Toothless stepped forward, low croon rising, charging a blast.

“No! No, Toothless!” Hiccup stopped him, fear laced in his voice.
The trappers shattered like glass at Jack’s mere touch. This would be no different.

Valka choked, barely holding her composure. Hiccup’s breaths turned shallow. “N-No…”

The Bewilderbeast lumbered after Drago. And Jack stood. The glow in his eyes dimmed to confusion.

“What…?” he rasped, staggering upright.
The battlefield blurred around him, riders, dragons, wreckage.

His eyes found the wall. The silence. The defeat.

Riders landed all around him. Astrid leapt off Stormfly, falling beside Hiccup’s slumped figure at the the structure.
Gobber walked slowly over. His expression fractured. He locked eyes with Jack. He removed his helmet. Then joined the family.

Jacks faltered as he stumbled forward. Eyes locked onto the thick wall of ice. Mist whispered from his mouth as he reached out to feel the chilling structure. His fingers grazed the surface, breath catching, the white light building once again in his throat, a fragile echo of his power stirring.

“I-I can hel-” he tried, voice barely a thread.

But Hiccup was already standing, showed Jack backwards. His voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade.
“NO! GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Jack’s steps faltered, ears pinning to his skull, tail dragging behind him.
“Hi-cupp?” he whispered, hope clinging to the edges of his voice.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” Hiccup shouted, rage and grief intertwining until neither could be pulled apart. His voice shook the air between them.

Jack reeled back, stunned. “Wha-t?” He reached forward, desperate, but Hiccup smacked his hand away with unrelenting finality. Frost spun off his fingers as he shook them off, disgust curled tight across his features.

“Get. Away.”
Each word dropped heavy as stone. And something shattered inside Jack.

He staggered back, chest rising in jagged breaths. A soft whine escaped him, forlorn and cracked, as he turned away from Hiccup.

Gobber stepped forward, eyes full of hurt, reaching out. “Son, it’s okay-”

But Jack was already lifting into the sky. Frozen tears streaked down his face, crystallizing under the cold that now spread from him like a curse. The wind hissed, the air turned brittle, something wild and furious stirred beneath the clouds. A storm was brewing, and Jack was at its heart.

Valka moved beside Hiccup as he collapsed to his knees. Toothless nuzzled close, crooning sorrowfully.
“It’s not his fault,” she said softly, her hand firm on her son’s back, steadying him as his world collapsed. “You know that.”

The Alpha roared once more, sending a tremor through every dragon in sight. Pupils turned thin, focused. One by one, they obeyed. Jack hesitated midair, turning toward the scene he’d left behind, toward the people he’d tried to protect. The family he had just ruined.

He let go.

Gobber’s hands flew to his belt. “No, no,” he muttered, pulling a blade free and slicing through the leather strap on Toothless’s tail just in time, halting the Night Fury’s march toward the Alpha’s command.

“Good creatures, under the control of bad people…” Valka whispered grimly, watching the dragons fall in line. “Do bad things.”

Meatlug and Stormfly lifted skyward, ignoring the pleas of their riders.
“Wait, don’t go!” Fishlegs shouted. But they were already lost to the wind.

Down by the shore, Drago stood tall, watching Jack fly past with growing satisfaction.

He turned to the Thunderpede, Huffjaw, soaring by, the one who had defied him and who bore some sort of bond with the young prince. His pike slammed down on her wing, dragging her down, as he jumped on her back without care.

The Bewilderbeast surged back toward the ocean, Jack now caught at its side. Drago’s pike hooked into the jagged edges of Jack’s armor, dragging the hybrid through the air in tandem. Jack screeched, a sound that had nothing human left in it, pure and primal pain.

“Come on,” Drago growled, climbing higher into the clouds, barking commands to the sky.

“GATHER THE MEN AND MEET ME AT BERK!”

Below, the shattered gathering of Vikings and riders watched, helpless, as the remainder of the army retreated. Hiccup’s breath caught. He saw the vacant look in Jack’s eyes, saw his friend, broken. He realized too late what he had done.

“JACK!”
Hiccup bolted upright, heart pounding. He’d pushed him away. He’d cursed him. He’d just handed his best friend, his love, to the very evil they’d sworn to fight.

Gobber and the twins wrestled with Toothless, the dragon writhing, torn between loyalty and the pull of the Alpha’s rule.

“No,” Valka said quickly, arms locking around Hiccup before he could run. Her voice was steady, though pain curled in. “Don’t… we can’t win this.”

Tears traced icy paths down Hiccup’s cheeks. Around him, dragons took to the sky. Their dragons. Berk’s dragons.

They flew toward destruction.
And was no Stoick the Vast to save them. No chief. Only the rubble and broken vikings left behind.

Notes:

Yeh so I was debating who to kill, with all of your heartfelt pleas and i was like… why not both?
Blame the canon not me. I havent got the energy for proofreading yet. So imma fix all my tipos and mistakes in a few days time.

I hope you (suffered) enjoyed it! See u next time.

(fun fact this work was planned to be 10 chapters long. Wouldn’t it be funny if I just dipped now for 3 years?)

TODLOOO

Tell me what u think. Except if you dint like it. Then lie.

Chapter 11: A moment of silence

Summary:

Good luck everyone.

Notes:

BIG WARNING OF GRUESOME DEATH PPL NOT SUPER DESCRIPTIVE BUT OH WELL.

 

Don’t loose ur heads :)

It felt like the sea had once swallowed Jack whole.

And yet, as he drifted along the Alpha, he felt strangely serene, quiet pulse of water in his ears, the weightlessness of surrender. It was like falling without fear. As if the world around him had dulled and folded inward, leaving only cold.

A face kept appearing, closer, clearer, and furious. Lips moved, teeth bared, shouts torn from a past Jack couldn’t reach. His heart didn’t stir. Even as wind roared past, even as the wood groaned and panicked cries rang out from somewhere distant… Jack floated.

Then, pain. A savage tug at the back of his neck. Too strong to ignore, he didn’t fight it. Couldn’t.

Drago’s face emerged sharply into view, aged now, lined with scars and hate. But Jack remembered the version before, the younger man on the cracking deck of a trader’s ship, clinging to a cage like it held treasure while chaos churned around them. Jack had offered salvation. Drago had chosen greed.

He had to cut the rope.

 

Drago seethed now, eyes blazing as he steered the Thunderpede now bent under his will, closer to the drifting hybrid. How could this middle of nowhere shepherd be alive? Untouched by time? The same expression, the same cursed smirk. No scars. No aging. No consequence.

And worse, he had a Bewilderbeast beside him. One of his own. Drago had bled, broken, and burned for that power. And this boy, this soft-faced buffoon, had returned not only alive, but elevated. Divine.

The rage had once been aimed at the dragons, then the world, the weak. It had never occurred to Drago to blame the boy. Not really. He died before his anger could fester. But now he stood tall, ethereal, winged like a god of winter. It changed everything.

He should have snapped his neck when he had the chance. Let the sea reclaim him. But no, he would not waste a weapon this potent.

Jack’s eyes were slitted now, vacant and distant, his body tethered to the Alpha’s command like a leaf to wind. Drago maneuvered close and swung his pike, catching the boy’s armor and dragging him in.

“What I could have done with your powers,” he muttered, voice thick with poisoned ambition.

Jack didn’t react.

Drago snarled and gripped a fistful of white hair at the nape of the hybrid’s neck. Jack let out a low, inhuman sound, distress. Just a reflex. But it brought him joy all the same.

“You belong to me now. You hear me?” Drago leaned close, breath sharp as daggers.

Jack’s gaze remained unfocused, wings flapping uneven to compensate for the pull against his neck.

“Fine,” Drago hissed under his breath. “Not yet. But I’ll get my turn. I’ll make sure you know exactly how it felt.”

With one last yank, he hurled the hybrid aside. Jack caught himself effortlessly, gliding back into the slipstream like nothing had happened.

It didn’t matter.

After Berk fell, after the Alpha claimed its throne, Drago would have him bound. The Bewilderbeast would rest. And Jack, Jack would remember everything. Drago will make him. One piece at a time.

 

Back at the island, grief settled heavy on everyone’s shoulders.

The riders stood in a solemn circle near the towering wall of ice where their chief had perished. The remnants of battle still clung to the air, ash, silence, and the sting of loss.

Ruffnut pressed both hands to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she sobbed beside Tuffnut. They didn’t speak. They couldn’t. Tuff’s arms were wrapped around her, tears slipping silently down their faces. His usual laugh replaced by quiet devastation.

Snotlout knelt nearby, eyes squeezed shut, fists balled against his knees. His body rocked with the effort to hold back his sobs, but his grief was too raw, too deep. Stoick had been more than chief to him, he’d been a father figure in place of one who never truly filled the role. A sudden breath burst from his chest and he wiped at his eyes angrily, ashamed of the weakness even as it consumed him.

Fishlegs didn’t bother hiding his tears. They streamed freely down his cheeks, his cries wracking his frame as he whispered apologies to the man he thought he had failed.

Gobber stood apart, quiet. He reached out and laid his palm upon the cold wall where Stoick had last stood. His gaze was hollow, his jaw clenched. He whispered something too soft to hear, then bowed his head in stillness.

None of them moved to leave. Dragons gone, hearts shattered, they wouldn’t abandon this island. Not like this. Not without their chief. Stoick the Vast must find his way to Valhalla, and they would see him off properly.

The silence fractured with a soft clink. Gobber adjusted his mace arm and let out a weary sigh.

Snotlout rose, sniffled hard, and swiped a sleeve across his face. “Let’s get your dad out of there” he whispered to hiccup, voice tight with sorrow. Then he grabbed his hammer and brought it down hard against the icy wall.

Clink.

Gobber joined him, swinging without hesitation.

Astrid stepped in next, then Valka. Then the rest. One by one, the sound of tools against frozen stone echoed through the hollow square, each impact a cry, a promise.

Hiccup didn’t move. He stood behind them, hands limp at his sides. His mind raced, thoughts tangled and frayed. What could he have done differently? What if the ice had lifted Stoick’s body, spiraling him out of reach? What if he’d already failed Berk? He certainly failed Jack.

He was numb.

Every clink chipped at his resolve. The louder they grew, the more his skin prickled. His breath came short, uneven. The weight of grief and guilt pressed until his heart felt too full to beat.

Another thunk. Another shout. Until -

“Enough,” he said softly.

No one heard him.

“Enough.” Again, his voice barely rose above the noise. Only Tuffnut glanced back at him, worry pinching his brow.

“Guys-“ he tried, but Hiccup raised his voice before he could finish.

“STOP!” His cry ripped through the cold, silencing steel and Conversation alike.

The quiet that followed was deafening. No dragons. No whispers. Just a stillness sharp as ice.

They turned to Hiccup in stunned silence. But someone tried sneaking in a few more chips.

Clang. Clang.

“Quiet,” Astrid snapped, her voice taut.

“We are,” Fishlegs murmured.

“No,” Astrid repeated, stepping forward. “All of you. Shut up. Listen.”

They froze.

Clank. Clank.

Heads turned. The sound was faint, metal on ice, rhythmic.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut broke into motion, circling the structure like wolves on a scent. They sprinted along the glistening edge, ears straining, before skidding to a halt at the back of the sanctuary wall.

“It’s coming from inside!” They echoed.

“I literally just said that, idiot!” Tuffnut yelped as he slipped and landed flat on his backside.

Hiccup didn’t react. He rushed forward, placing his ear against the carved divot.

Clang. Clang.

“Dad?” His voice shook. “DAAAAAD!”

He beat his fist against the wall, desperation blooming.

“Toothless!” he shouted, looking for his dragon. But Toothless was already turning, ears sharp, pupils narrowed, gaze locked on something distant.

Hiccup’s blood ran cold.

The Alpha. It had returned, and this time it was taking Toothless with him.

“Toothless, wait!” Hiccup chased him through the snow, panic driving his feet. But Toothless didn’t run, he sat, still, unmoving by the shoreline, eyes wide, present.

“What is it, bud?” Hiccup skidded next to him, breath catching. “What do you see?”

He followed his dragon’s gaze out across the horizon.

There, perched unsteadily on a stone spire, was Cloudjumper. His tail was stiff, frozen solid. He tilted his head, disoriented, calling softly. The clump of weight had held him back from the Alpha’s summon.

“MOM!” Hiccup called.

Valka emerged from the rubble, eyes narrowing.

Hiccup scrambled for a needle and twine and stitched Toothless’s tail strap back into place, Valka followed the dragon’s gaze and gasped.

“CLOUDJUMPER!” she cried, letting out a piercing whistle.

Far out on the spires, the Stormcutter jolted. He moved clumsily, leaping from stone to stone until he reached the shoreline. His feet slid into the water, but he steadied himself, cooing deeply before nudging into Valka’s arms.

She hugged him close.

Then her eyes widened.

“Come, Cloudjumper!” she urged, grabbing her staff and motioning to the others.

They ran back toward the wall of ice.

The others still hammered, but progress was slow, barely half a meter in and nothing to show for it.

Astrid spotted them and stepped up.

“Back up, everyone! Give them space!”

Valka and Cloudjumper walked forward, his eyes focused. “His steady flame shouldn’t compromise the ice. Not like Toothless’s blast might.”

Toothless perked up at the mention of his name, nudging her playfully.

Valka twisted the hook of her staff and pointed at the wall.

Cloudjumper lowered his neck and began a stream of steady fire. Steam billowed into the cold, filling the growing tunnel in thick waves as the dragon disappeared into the wall. The Vikings followed with no hesitation.

Minutes ticked by. The fire stilled. Cloudjumper turned his head, looking back over his shoulder.

Valka nodded. “He’s out.”

“Let him exit,” Hiccup said. “We’ll clear the rest.”

They stepped back, and Hiccup surged forward, nearly slipping before Valka steadied him. He pressed his ear to the wall again.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Closer this time, the ice trembled.

“STOICK!” Valka cried.

“DAAAD!” Hiccup shouted, voice cracking under the weight of hope.

The wall caved.

 

Stoick stirred with a groan, pain blooming behind his eyes like a stormcloud. His skull throbbed, heavy with his helmet dented.. When he opened his eyes, he found himself adrift in a vast, white expanse, no sky, no earth, just endless light and silence. He was floating. Untethered.

Was this Valhalla?

He tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish, his feet unable to find purchase. No ground beneath him. No wind. Just the hush of eternity. He sighed, the sound swallowed by the void.

So this was it.
He prayed he wouldn’t see his son here, not yet, not for a long time. With a warrior’s resolve, he steeled himself and willed his body forward. Still, nothing beneath him. Still, nowhere to go.

He looked around to orient himself.

To his left and right, frozen statues of beasts emerged from the mist, carved in ice. A stampede immortalized mid-charge: bears, stallions, rabbits, all caught in a crystalline wave, their forms vanishing into the fog. He turned, straining to reach behind him, and felt the cold bite of ice between his shoulder blades. With a grunt, he snapped the shard that had pierced his cloak, tumbling down until his boots struck solid ground.

He landed with a thud.

Rising slowly, he turned to face the place he’d fallen from, and froze. Towering above him was the frozen form of a dragon, massive and unfamiliar. No, not unfamiliar. He had seen this species before. He stepped closer, inspecting the beast’s thunderous frame. The babies. Jack’s babies. Thunderpedes, they were called. And this one, this one was roaring, leading the frozen charge of animals, its horn was holding up Stoick.

“Odin’s beard,” he whispered.

The memories came flooding back. The battle. The sanctuary. The Alpha’s roar. Jack, controlled by Drago, had been ordered to kill Hiccup. And yet… somehow, the boy had resisted. The blast meant to end Hiccup’s life had instead created this dome of ice. Stoick had pushed his son out of the way just in time.

This wasn’t the afterlife. No Valkyries. No gates.
This was Jack. His will had saved him.

“HICCUP!” Stoick roared, his voice reverberating through the frozen chamber, looking for his son. He pounded the walls, searching for an exit, but found only more statues, more echoes of life frozen in time. Rabbits, bears, horses… and a lone wolf, carved with haunting detail, staring opposite from the thunderpede that held him.

His axe was lost somewhere on the battlefield. He sat down, breath fogging in the cold, mind racing. Had the battle been lost? Had his family escaped? Or had they been taken, by Drago, or worse? trapped in Jack’s ice?

No. No, this power… Jack had poured everything into saving Hiccup, surely it wouldn’t falter because stoic intervened. His son had to be on the other side of this room. He had to still be fighting.

Now it was Stoick’s turn.

He rose, just as a sound reached his ears, clang, clang, clang, metal on ice. People. Carving from the outside. Jack must have told them. Maybe things weren’t as dire as he feared.

He removed his helmet, rubbing his brow. Then paused. The helmet. He gripped it tightly, using the horn to carve at the ice beneath the thunderpede. Again and again, he scraped and shouted.

“HICCUP! SON!”

Time passed. The ice held firm. Then, silence. The carving stopped. Panic surged in his chest.

“VALKAAAA! HICCUUUUP!” he bellowed, now striking the wall with his fists. The silence pressed in, heavy and cruel.

Then… a glow. Faint and golden. Dragonfire.

“Yes,” he breathed, stepping back, heart pounding. The wall began to sweat, the light growing, then dimming. But the silhouettes beyond were clear now, close.

Stoick slammed his arm against the wall, harder and faster. Cracks spidered across the surface. He roared, driving his strength into each blow until -

CRACK.

The wall gave way.

And there, sword raised mid-swing, was Hiccup, halting just in time to avoid striking his father. Their eyes met. A breath of relief passed between them, raw and wordless.

“Oh thank Odin,” Stoick murmured, scooping his son into a crushing embrace. Hiccup clung to him, tears stinging his cheeks.

“Dad…” he whispered.

Behind them, Valka exhaled as Stoick reached out, pulling her into the embrace, holding his family close.

And from the tunnel behind them came the sound of joyful cheers, voices of their people, pouring in like sunlight after a storm.

 

As tunnel echoed with cheers, the sound of reunited vikings and a breath of hope returning to the sanctuary. Hiccup stood still, arms wrapped around his father, heart thundering with relief.

Stoick’s embrace was warm, grounding, the kind of strength Hiccup had feared he’d never feel again. His father was alive. Alive. Against all odds. Against the blast that should have ended everything.

Hiccup’s jaw clenched. It happened so fast. Jack, eyes wide with confusion and pain, had stood in the aftermath of the explosion, surrounded by supposed friends. Controlled. Terrified. And Hiccup… Hiccup had sent him away.

He had shouted. Hurt. Driven him off with cruel words.

And Jack had gone. Taken by Drago’s forces. Alone.

 

The air was full of laughter andtears. But Stoick heard none of it. His world had narrowed to the arms around him, the weight of his son pressed against his chest, and the warmth of Valka’s hand on his back.

He held them both tightly, as if someone might steal them away again.

“Dad…” Hiccup whispered, voice trembling.

Stoick pulled back just enough to see his son’s face. “Thank Odin,” he repeated, voice thick with emotion. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

Valka smiled through tears, her hand brushing Stoick’s cheek. “We thought we lost you.”

Hiccup whispered . “I saw the blast. I thought…I thought he killed you.”

Stoick shook his head, still dazed. “Aye, I was begging to think so too. Thought I made it to Valhalla..” He steps back towards the dome. For more space and for clarity.
“But It’s the opposite. Jack saved me, or well… you” he pokes his son gently in the chest.
“He created the dome to protect you, son. I was only caught in it because I pushed you out of the way.”

 

Gobber didn’t wait for the heartfelt moment to end.

He marched forward with purpose, pushing past his students clogging the tunnel, boots crunching against the icy floor, punched Stoick squarely in the shoulder, hard enough to make the chief grunt. Then, without ceremony, he pulled him into a crushing hug, arms tight and trembling.

“Ya lucky bastard,” Gobber muttered, voice thick with emotion. “Never do that again, ya hear me?”

Stoick sighed, the sound deep and weary, and patted his old friend’s back with a quiet chuckle.
“Aye,” he said softly.

Gobber let go, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Though luck had nothin’ to do with it,” Stoick added, a smile curling beneath his frost-dusted beard. He nudged Hiccup’s shoulder gently. “That boyfriend of yours is really somethin’.”

He turned to Hiccup, expecting the usual flush of embarrassment, maybe a stammered denial. But instead, he saw something else, something that made his heart sink.

Pain.

A flicker of guilt passed through Hiccup’s eyes, raw and unguarded.

There was a soft ripple of surprise among the riders, at Stoic’s statement. Astrid, arms crossed, gave a quiet nod. “About time,” she said under her breath.

Snotlout’s jaw dropped, his expression frozen in disbelief.

Stoick’s brow furrowed. “So where is he?” he asked, straightening up, his voice suddenly sharp with concern, eyes searching in the crowded pathway.

“He’s gone,” Hiccup said, rubbing his arm, eyes fixed on the ground. “I-I thought he killed you, Dad.”

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing against the walls of ice like a held breath.

Stoick’s gaze softened. He stepped back, then motioned for his son and the others to follow.
“Come.”

They walked through the tunnel, the air growing colder as they entered the dome. Revealing the cathedral-like chamber Jack had created, an ethereal space. It was easy to see how Stoick thought he entered an other world.

The group stepped inside, and the hush was immediate.

The dome shimmered with pale blue light, refracted through layers of ice like stained glass. Animals jutted out from the walls in a sweeping wave, what looked like a stampede from afar revealed itself up close to be a celebration. Rabbits chased each other in playful spirals, horses galloped with wild joy, and bears leapt after frozen salmon across the icy sea of creatures. Each face was carved with emotion, glee, wonder, freedom.

“I believe he tried to shield you,” Stoick said, placing a firm hand on Hiccup’s shoulder.

Hiccup’s mouth fell open, mirroring the stunned expressions of the others. Gobber stepped closer to the statues, inspecting them with a squint and a smirk.

“Ha! Bloody showoff,” he muttered, tapping one of the frozen bears with his good hand.

“Ya think he pretended to be controlled?” he asked, turning to the group.

Hiccup shook his head. “No-no, I don’t think so. He looked confused after.” His voice dropped. “He was scared.”

Gobber murmured, “Subconscious then.”

Astrid stepped forward, hands on her hips, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
“Sorry to interrupt your theorizing about Jack’s powers, but in case you forgot, there’s still an Alpha. And the remaining fleet is heading for Berk right now. Controlled Jack or not, they don’t stand a chance against that thing.”

Fishlegs piped up, voice anxious. “What are we gonna do? They took all our dragons!”

Toothless and Cloudjumper huffed in offense, wings flaring slightly.

Hiccup straightened, a spark of an idea forming behind his eyes. “Not all of them.”

With one last look at the intricate dome, he turned and rushed out, boot skidding slightly on the ice. The riders followed close behind, urgency in their steps, their silhouettes vanishing into the tunnel’s glow.

The adults lingered for a moment longer, exchanging glances. The weight of battle returned to their shoulders, but so did resolve. They nodded to one another, faces set with quiet determination.

Then, rushing footsteps echoed again.

Snotlout returned, eyes darting behind him as if checking to make sure no one had followed. Once convinced he was free of his peers, he walked up to Stoick and slammed into a hug, arms tight and silent.

He didn’t speak at first, just held the man as if to confirm he was real.

“Good to have you back, Chief,” he said finally, voice high pitched.

Stoick was surprised, then let out a warm chuckle, patting Snotlout’s back gently.
“Thank you, nephew.”

Snotlout let go quickly and rushed back out. Outside, his voice rang out, loud and proud:
“Yeah, I had to make sure the tunnel was stable before it collapsed on us.”

He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest.

Tuffnut smacked him on the helmet.
“Yeah, after the fact we walked through it twice, the crying really sells it.”

The twins chuckled and followed after Hiccup, their laughter echoing behind them.

 

Stoick exited into the brisk air with the others, only now did he truly take in the battlefield, the scorched earth, the shattered ice, the absence of dragons.

 

The sanctuary shimmered with the fading light of day, its icy walls echoing with distant dragon roars. The battle had ended, but the war was far from over. Drago had taken Jack, and with him, the Alpha had stolen nearly all their dragons. Only Toothless and Cloudjumper remained.

Now, the riders scrambled through the sanctuary proper, chasing down unruly baby dragons that zipped and darted like errand embers in a campfire. Wings flapped, tails whipped, juveniles chirped.

Stoick, Valka, and Hiccup stayed behind.

Hiccup sat quietly on the ledge he and Jack had shared just hours earlier. The moss beneath him was damp with melted frost, and something glinted faintly in the green, a single white scale. He reached down, picking it up gently, running his thumb over its smooth surface.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he whispered.

His parents sat on either side of him, silent sentinels to his grief. He looked at his father, eyes hollow with guilt.

“I’m not the chief you wanted me to be,” he said. “And I’m not the peacekeeper I thought I was. I-I don’t know…”

His voice cracked, barely audible above the wind. “I sent him away.”

Valka leaned forward, her eyes soft but mirroring his. “You were in pain. You didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“But I did,” Hiccup said, voice rising. “I knew he wasn’t himself. And I-I turned my back on him.”

Stoick’s voice rumbled low, like distant thunder. “ You know when you came early into this world. You were such a wee thing-so frail, so fragile.”

Valka nodded, brushing a hand through her son’s hair. “I feared you wouldn’t make it. But your father never doubted. He always said you’d become the strongest of them all. And he was right.”

“You have the heart of a chief,” Stoick said, placing a firm hand on Hiccup’s shoulder.

“And the soul of a dragon,” Valka added. “Only you can bring our worlds together.”

They both looked at him, eyes full of pride and sorrow.

“That is who you are, son,” Stoick said, placing his hand over Hiccup’s.

“And Jack is one of your own,” he finished, catching Hiccup’s gaze.

Hiccup stood slowly, the lesson etched into his bones. “And a chief protects his own.”

Stoick nodded eyes crinkling form a proud smile. “That we do”

The younger Haddock turned toward the chaos behind them. “We’re going back.”

“Uh, WE’RE WORKING ON THAT!” Tuffnut shouted, plummeting through the air with a baby dragon that refused to flap its wings.

“I don’t wanna dieeee!” Fishlegs screamed, clutching his temporary companion.

Hiccup let out a breathy laugh and jumped onto Toothless. Valka and Stoick climbed onto Cloudjumper, wings unfurling.

“We can’t fly these things!” Tuffnut cried.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ruffnut muttered, gripping her dragon’s horns as they exited the sanctuary once more, the chirp of dragons rising around them.

“Woah!” Fishlegs shouted as they soared high above the ice.

“But won’t that Bewilderbeast take control of these guys too?” Astrid asked, struggling to steady her mount.

“They’re babies,” Hiccup said with a smirk, perched confidently on his well-behaved Night Fury. “They don’t listen to anyone.”

Toothless warbled proudly, glancing down at the chaos below.

“Yeah, just like us,” Tuffnut joked.

“This. Is. Very dangerous,” Gobber muttered as his baby dragon dipped and dove between every word.

“Some might suggest this is poorly conceived,” he added, steadying the creature again as they reached the edge of the battlefield.

“Well then it’s a good thing I never listen,” Hiccup said, eyes fixed on the horizon, toward Berk.

“So what is your plan?” Gobber asked, clinging to his unsteady juvenile.

“Get Jack back and kick Drago’s-” Hiccup began, but a deep rumble interrupted him.

“You might wanna look down,” Gobber said with a smirk.

All eyes turned downward.

A massive ice spire collapsed in on itself, flaking into soft snow that was whisked away by the wind. Two enormous tusks emerged, followed by a roar that shattered the silence. The first Bewilderbeast, thought dead, rose from the rubble, snow swirling around its rising form.

“YEEAAAH!” Hiccup screamed, eyes wide with exhilaration.

The riders erupted:

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Snotlout howled.

“IT’S ALIVE?” Fishlegs gasped.

“By Thor’s beard!” Gobber shouted, gripping his saddle.

Valka dipped down immediately, swinging her staff to catch the great beast’s attention. She pointed toward the distant horizon, where the enemy had vanished hours earlier. The Bewilderbeast roared in acknowledgment and began swimming, ice cracking beneath its massive form.

Hiccup watched in triumph, but his joy faltered. “He’s not gonna be fast enough,” he murmured.

He turned Toothless sharply and dove toward his parents. “MOM! DAD! HE’S NOT GONNA CATCH UP IN TIME. YOU LEAD HIM TO BERK! ME AND THE OTHERS WILL BUY YOU SOME TIME!”

Stoick opened his mouth to object, but Valka placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head gently. The chieftain exhaled, eyes heavy.

“Aye. But be careful, son.”

Hiccup mock-saluted as he dove away with Toothless. “When am I not?”

The rest of the riders followed, wings slicing through the air.

“GOBBER!” Stoick shouted.

Gobber waved him off. “Protect him at all costs, I got it! Like this wee lizard’ll keep up with his Night Fury,” he muttered, gripping his dragon tighter.

The riders soared into the sunset, toward Berk.

 

It was in the shadowed hush before dawn, when even the stars just barely stared to dim, when the siege of Berk began. Drago Bludvist, astride a Thunderpede, surged forth from the sea like a waking nightmare. Behind him, the Bewilderbeast rose, the ancient leviathan’s bulk dwarfed the cliffs in front of him. The guiding light towers, proud sentinels of Berk’s coast, shattered beneath its advance, their flames snuffed out like candles in a storm.

 

Within the village, dragons stirred. Not with hunger or playfulness, but with a primal urgency. They abandoned their beds, their riders, their homes. Berk’s people, roused by the sudden absence of their companions, rushed to the edges of the village, only to be met with horror.

Gothi, had been nestled among her Terrible Terrors, their warmth a comfort in the cold night. But when they fled, she woke with a start. Her feet carried her swiftly to her balcony, where she beheld the impossible.

A cloud of dragons circled a colossal silhouette rising from the sea. It was not just the size that stole her breath, it was the presence of a strange man riding a Thunderpede, and beside him, a young hybrid dragon flapping listlessly, eyes vacant. She cluched her staff eyes narrowing at the boy.

“YOUR CHIEF IS DEAD!” Drago’s voice thundered across the icy winds.

“Stoick?” gasped Fishlegs’ mother.

“Not possible!” someone cried from the crowd.

“No one can protect you now,” Drago growled, and with a cruel gesture, the Bewilderbeast unleashed a torrent of ice. It swept across Berk, freezing homes, splintering wood, silencing life. Gothi leapt from her dwelling just in time, bracing for impact, only to be met by a clumsy baby dragon. The creature buckled under her impact, but its siblings swooped in, crooning softly as they guided her to safety. She wasted no time, ushering the little ones into hiding.

 

As the first light bled into the horizon, Hiccup and his riders arrived, too late to stop the nightmare, but just in time to witness it. Berk lay frozen beneath jagged spires of ice, its cliffs dwarfed by the monstrous Bewilderbeast. The titan’s breath had turned homes into tombs, and Hiccup’s heart sank with the weight of a thousand regrets. He knew, deep in his bones, that many within those cold prisons had not escaped the fate his father had.

“Distract the Alpha!” he cried, urgency sharpening his voice. “Try to keep his focus off of Jack!”

“Uh… how?” Tuffnut asked, bewildered, just as Eret swooped in beside them.

“Have you forgotten who you’re riding with?” Eret grinned, bravado flickering on with ease. “There isn’t a dragon alive I can’t wrangle!”

But the baby dragon beneath him had other plans. It spotted something below and dove, dragging its rider with it.

“AHHH…. EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE!” The ex-trapper screamed as he plummeted toward Berk’s streets.

Snotlout scoffed, his smirk rising. “Amateur.”

 

As they soared closer, the villagers spotted Hiccup.

“Look! It’s Hiccup!” someone cried, and a cheer erupted, echoing through the frozen air like a heartbeat returning to a dying body.

“What?” Drago snarled, his eyes narrowing as Hiccup veered Toothless toward him. The Bewilderbeast turned its gaze from Berk, just in time to be smacked in the face by a flying sheep.

“Keep ‘em coming!” Ruffnut shouted below as Snotlout loaded another woolly missile into the catapult.

“Black sheep, babyyy!” he crowed, launching it with glee.

The Bewilderbeast roared in frustration, only to be interrupted by the deep, absurd bellow of the warhorn mounted on the mountain’s edge. The sound echoed once, then silence, eerie and complete.

The beast reared again, preparing another assault, until a black sheep soared through the air, landing squarely on its forehead. It tumbled down between its quills, hooking just above its mouth.

“Ten points!” Snotlout whooped.

Ruffnut chuckled, “Nice shot.”

The alpha huffed, dislodging the sheep with a breath that sent it tumbling. Snotlout caught it with practiced ease, but the beast’s gaze was now locked on them, its patience worn thin.

“Uh-oh,” Snotlout muttered.

Another roar shook the cliffs, but again, the warhorn bellowed. The titan turned, glaring toward the sound. Fishlegs, barely containing his laughter, peeked from behind the horn’s structure.

But the moment was short-lived.

The Massive dragon charged a blast, its cold breath crackling. Fishlegs gasped, scrambling to escape the unleashed fury. The horn shattered into splinters, ice raining down like daggers.

From somewhere beyond the wreckage came a muffled voice.

“I’m okaaaay…”

 

Eret landed with a jarring thud behind a crumbling building, groaning as his mount rushed off toward a cellar. He followed, eyes widening in surprise. Four larger juveniles stared at him, soft glows emanating from their bodies. An old woman raised a staff threateningly.

“I’m with Hiccup and the others!” Eret scrambled, recognizing the baby Thunderpedes with a side glance. “I could actually really use your help…”

 

Toothless roared in frustration, the Alpha’s presence gnawing at his mind. Hiccup flew past a broken flagpost, ripping a strip of cloth and gently laying it over Toothless’s eyes.

“We gotta block him out, Toothless. Do you trust me, bud?”

Toothless cooed in response.

“We can do this.”

Hiccup steadied his breath, flew over to the beast, now hovering Toothless in front of Drago.

“You are certainly hard to get rid of, I’ll say that.” The madman growled.

Hiccups voice faltered as his gaze found Jack, his Jack, hovering beside Drago, eyes vacant, twitching under the Alpha’s control.

“Jack?” Hiccup called out weakly, drifting closer. “It’s me, Jack. I’m right here with you.”

Jack remained still, showing no sign of recognition.

“Come back to me,” Hiccup whispered, voice cracking. But Jack was no longer there.

Drago chuckled, low and cruel. “He’s not yours anymore. He belongs to the Alpha.”

He jabbed his pike into Jack’s side, drawing a faint whine from the boy. Hiccup gasped, reaching out instinctively.

“But please, great dragon master… try to take him,” Drago sneered, showing the hybrid closed as the Bewilderbeast loomed behind him, its focus sharpening on Jack.

Toothless twitched at the intrusion, but Hiccup placed a calming hand on his head.

“He will not miss a second time,” Drago warned.

 

Hiccup used the opportunity to hover closer, reaching out slowly.

“It wasn’t your fault. They made you do it,” he said, searching Jack’s face for any flicker of recognition.

Jack’s jaw lowered slightly as the temperature dropped. The air vibrated, thrummed with tension. The Alpha’s stare bore into him, refusing to release.

But Hiccup drifted closer, locking eyes with the hybrid, and there! A flicker. Jack’s eyes spasmed, shifting between human pupils and dragon slits. His body trembled. A gasp escaped him, a croon cut in half.

“Hic-”

“You’d never hurt him,” Hiccup pressed, voice full of love, closing the distance. “You’d never hurt me.”

His hand reached Jack’s cheek, thumb gently wiping away the frozen tears. Jack’s eyes widened, locking onto Hiccup’s.

“Hi—Hic—cup?” The sound was broken, desperate.

“You are my everything, Jack,” Hiccup whispered, their faces inches apart. His other hand cradled Jack’s face. The Alpha strained, trying to pull Jack back under.

“I-I don’t-” Jack pleaded, shaking.

“My love,” Hiccup breathed, pressing his forehead to Jack’s.

Jack’s eyes closed, his expression scrunching with effort. When they opened again, they were human-filled with so much fear… and love.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Hiccup’s face lit up, not paying mind to the aplogy, at that Jack’s face did too.

“Atta boy, that’s it!” Hiccup laughed breathlessly, and Jack let out a shaky laugh-just as Drago roared.

“Enough!” he snarled, swinging at Jack.

The blow knocked Jack aside, his eyes spasming again into slits.

Hiccup surged forward, but Drago moved to block him-until a blast struck the man from behind. He staggered, teetering out of Hiccup’s way.

Four little Thunderpedes yipped and crooned, sending small blasts at Drago. Calling their mother. The man on her back did not notice her will returning. He raised his pike to strike them down, but Huffjaw grabbed the shaft, swiftly yanking him off her back with an annoyed breath. She joined her babies in the air, warbling softly at her remaining baby.

 

Hiccup closed the distance to Jack again, who was shaking his head, resisting the Alpha’s grip. Hiccup grabbed hold of him and kissed him, messy, freezing, desperate. Jack returned it, trembling.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Hiccup rushed.

Jack winced, his shoulder and side aching, sharp pain now evident with his mind clear. Hiccup kissed his cheeks swiftly, trying to distract him.

“Hang on. We’ll finish this quick.”

Jack looked at him like he’d just given him the world. Then his ears twitched, eyes darting downward.

“Watch out!” he warned, before slamming Toothless and Hiccup away with his tail just as the Bewilderbeast’s tusk swept through the space they’d occupied.

 

Drago clung to the chained tusk, scrambling upward with the desperation of a man watching his grip on power slip through his fingers. His boots scraped against the beast, breath ragged as he hauled himself toward its crown.

“Do something!” he bellowed, voice cracking with fury as he reached the top of the skull.

Hiccup nodded at Jack, his expression determined. “We need to get those two apart.”

Jack’s ears twitched, the pressure of the Alpha’s influence still pressing against his mind like a tidal wave. But he nodded, wings flaring as he rose higher beside Hiccup.

“We got this,” Hiccup said, voice steady against the thrumming air. He steered Toothless close, placing a hand gently over Jack’s ears, pushing them flat against his head. “Keep them closed, okay? Just watch me.”

Jack nodded again, and for the first time since the siege began, his smile returned, soft, crooked but fragile. A sarcastic thought flickered behind his eyes.

Like he would watch anyone else.

The Dragon roared, sending a blast of ice toward them. Hiccup signaled with his hands, and he and Toothless veered to one side while Jack darted to the other. The air split with the force of the blast, shards of frost trailing behind them like comet tails.

“You and me as one, okay bud?” Hiccup whispered, placing a hand on Toothless’s temple. Even blinded, the Night Fury warbled happily, trusting him completely.

As they resurfaced on the far side of the stone spires, Hiccup’s heart clenched. Jack’s ears were still tucked tight against his head, his eyes scanning the sky. When they locked with Hiccup’s, his face split into a beaming grin,so full of trust, so full of love. Trust that Hiccup had betrayed.

He shook his head. No time for guilt. Not now.

“Now let’s try this one more time!” he called, motioning for Jack to turn. He raised two fingers, forming prongs, a silent message. Aim for the quills.

Jack nodded, and together they soared above the frozen village.

Below, Astrid turned at the sound of them, with an added body trailing behind. Her eyes widened. Without hesitation, she sprinted across the crowd, leaping from shoulders and rooftops until she clasped onto Huffjaw’s side. The dragon jolted in surprise, but Astrid placed a calming hand on her forehead.

“Do you mind if I catch a ride?” she asked.

Huffjaw snorted steam, then roared as she picked up speed. She would allow it.

With a chuff, Huffjaw ordered her cubs to stay behind. The four little Thunderpedes halted midair, huffing in protest, a trait they’d clearly inherited from their mother.

Hiccup swept in front of the Alpha, who snarled as Drago raised his bloodied pike.

“Take control of it!” Drago ordered.

But before the beast could respond, Jack unleashed a barrage of ice blasts onto its quills, whooping as he whizzed past, chuffing and growling in dragon tongue to draw its attention.

“Stop them!” Drago shrieked.

“Now!” Hiccup signaled.

The Bewilderbeast fired another blast, but Toothless veered sharply, evading with ease. Drago laughed, triumphant, until he realized Toothless was riderless.

The Night Fury soared through the air, wearing a smug grin, staring Drago down.

By the time Drago turned, it was too late. Hiccup streaked past in his flight suit, dragging a line of Zippleback gas behind him. Drago swung his pike, but missed. Hiccup cleared the distance, then sparked the trail.

The explosion sent the man flying off the Bewilderbeast’s head. He landed with a brutal thud, the breath knocked from his lungs. His pike skidded into the dirt, just out of reach. He roared, cursed, spat, blind from his fury.

“Jack! Your turn!” Hiccup saluted. As Jack retook his position, on front of the head, central and defiant.

Hiccup soared on, over the beast’s back as its tail curled upward. He groaned at the familiar sight.

“Not again…”

The gargantuan tail rose, Toothless flapped hard, splitting his back fins for agility. Catching up to Hiccup the last second. Berk held its breath, then they cleared it emerging tail with a celebratory shout.

“Yeah! We did it!” Hiccup cried, petting Toothless as they descended toward Drago.

By the time they reached him, Astrid was already on the ground, Drago’s weapon in her hand. Huffjaw snarled, keeping the man pinned.

“It’s all over now,” Hiccup said, leaping from Toothless with his flaming sword drawn. But the dragons did plenty, Huffjaw and Toothless snarling, keeping Drago at bay.

Yet Drago didn’t look at them.

He stared past them, at Jack, who hovered before the Bewilderbeast, warbling softly, pleading.

The beast reared its head, eyes locked on Drago. Then, with a guttural roar, it fired.

A blast of ice tore through the air, aimed not at Drago, but at Jack. And Hiccup. And Astrid.

“Oh no,” Hiccup breathed, sprinting away from the blast.

Toothless lunged, shielding Hiccup. Huffjaw leapt in front of Astrid, charging a counter-blast.

But it was too late.

The ice swept past Jack in a ghostly rush, encasing Hiccup in a frigid tomb. Astrid ducked behind the thunderpede but failed to escape. Jack turned in horror, shaking off the cold, only to see his friends freeze.

Drago laughed, the cruel sound that rang across the battlefield.

He looked at Jack with challenge in his eyes.

And Jack, shaking, stared back, his heart thundering.

 

“N–no,” he gasped, voice trembling as power surged within him. His body arched midair, wings flared wide, and the Berkians watched in awe as his body lit up from the inside, an eerie, radiant glow pulsing through his veins, illuminating his skin. An otherworldly shriek tore from his throat, splitting the sky.

The ice tomb that had encased Hiccup and Astrid exploded into a flurry of soft snowflakes, melting into the air like a bad dream. From the mist, the vikings and dragons emerged, coughing, blinking, but unharmed. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Toothless was already curled protectively around Hiccup, his throat and scutes glowing with a cold blue hue. The pitch of his roar rose, matching Jack’s, and he leapt onto a remaining spire, staring down the Bewilderbeast with defiance.

“He’s challenging the Alpha,” Hiccup whispered, stunned.

Astrid nudged him in the ribs. “To protect you.”

Toothless unleashed blast after blast at the creature’s tusks, shaking its massive head, disorienting it. Jack joined in, roaring, his own blasts striking the quills. With each tremor, the dragons above began to stir, shaking themselves free of the Alpha’s grip, wings flaring, eyes clearing. One by one, they joined the rebellion.

Toothless roared again, and more dragons peeled away from the Bewilderbeast’s influence, gathering behind him.

“No. No no no no!” Drago screamed, scrambling toward the beast. “Fight back! Fight back!”

He climbed the tusk again, his voice shrill, his body trembling with rage. But the Bewilderbeast’s eyes twitched between Jack and Toothless. It looked… tired.

“What’s the matter with you!” Drago shrieked.

Below, the Berkians rose in defiance. With their dragons at their sides, they rushed toward the shore.

Toothless landed atop the forward-most spire, his head held high.

“Now do you get it?” Hiccup shouted, voice ringing across the battlefield. “This is what it is to earn a dragon’s loyalty!”

Drago gasped, clinging to his weary beast.

“Let this end. Now,” Hiccup ordered.

“Never! Come on!” Drago roared, but the Bewilderbeast didn’t move.

“What are you doing? Shoot them!” he screamed, voice cracking like a spoiled child denied his toy.

Toothless roared, and the dragons opened their jaws, flames flickering in warning. From the massive cloud of wings and scales, one dragon broke free, a Monstrous Nightmare, its body ablaze, its eyes locked on Drago.

Drago ducked instinctively, but the Bewilderbeast raised its tusk and gave a lazy toss, sending the man into the air like a sack of flour.

He gasped as his footing vanished, flailed wildly,only to be caught midair by long, hooked claws.

Hookfang.

The Monstrous Nightmare held him firmly, flew around a bend before unceremoniously slamming him into the cliffside. Drago crumpled to the ground, bruised and staggering. He looked up at the flaming beast and laughed.

“Haha! You can’t be serious? A pet?” he spat, voice rising. “You belong to m-”

The word stuck in his throat, or well it would be.

If Hookfang hadn’t bit his head clean off.

A little shake for good measure, then a spit into the sea.

The dragon turned, tail flicking, and flitted back to his rider happy like he’d just taken out the trash.

Toothless roared once more, and the dragons responded. Warning shots painted the sky in smoky streaks, gray and thunderous. The Bewilderbeast lowered its head, rumbling deep in its chest. But this time, it was not a threat.

It was submission.

“The Alpha protects them all,” Hiccup said, rising as Toothless beneath him stood tall, no longer just a Night Fury, but the new king of dragons.

The Bewilderbeast began to retreat, slipping back toward the sea. But Jack flew in front of it, warbling and cooing softly. They hovered together, exchanging sounds and gestures too distant for anyone on the cliff to decipher. A quiet communion between two beings.

Hiccup landed among the people of Berk, the crowd pouring in around him. Cheers erupted, voices rising in celebration. The nightmare was over.

 

The dragons descended like falling stars, each one landing in a circle around Toothless. Huffjaw touched down with a thud, her massive form casting a shadow over some of the crowd. She lowered her head slowly, reverently. Cloudjumper followed, wings folding as he bowed low. Then came the rest, hundreds of dragons, great and small, their wings brushing the wind, their eyes gleaming with recognition. One by one, they bowed before the Night Fury.

Toothless stood tall, his chest rising with pride as he looked around at the sea of companions. Then, with a triumphant ease, he let out a roar, not of war, but of victory, of unity. The dragons joined him, their voices rising in a cacophony of song, a symphony. Berk sang with them, the air filled with the music of dragons.

But Toothless cared for none of it.

He turned to Hiccup, eyes soft, and pressed his head gently against his rider’s. Hiccup smiled, resting his forehead against the dragon’s.

“You never cease to amaze me, bud,” he whispered.

Toothless warbled warmly, then, without warning, attacked Hiccup with a barrage of slobbery licks. The Viking yelped, arms flailing as dragon drool seeping into his armor.

“Toothless! You know that doesn’t wash out!”

The crowd burst into laughter, warmth blooming in the crisp air like spring after a long winter.

With the battle concluded, dragons swarmed their Viking counterparts. People collided in joyful embraces with their reptilian friends. Gothy was swept off her feet by her terrible terror army, their tiny wings flapping as they chirped and nuzzled her.

“Stormfly!” Astrid cried, giggling as she cuddled her Nadder, burying her face in her side.

Gobber threw his arms wide as Grump glided toward him. “Oh, give me a cuddle, Grumpy!” he bellowed, and the Hotburple landed squarely on him with a grunt.

Hiccup chuckled, watching the reunions unfold.

“Who’s my little princess?” Fishlegs cooed as he reunited with Meatlug. “Yes you areee!”

Snotlout tackled Hookfang, who licked the last bit of blood from his face with smug satisfaction.

“Don’t you ever leave, Hookfang,” Snotlout muttered, clutching the dragon tightly.

The twins hugged each of their Zippleback heads, whispering nonsense and affection in equal measure.

Eret sauntered up to Hiccup, brushing soot from his shoulder. “That was some pretty fine dragon wrangling back there,” he said with a shrug. “You’d make a good trapper.”

A Shovelhelm bumped into him affectionately.

“You know,” Hiccup said, “there are plenty of dragons here without companions. Looks like this one chose you.”

Eret gently patted the creature’s head. “I am honored.”

Then Hiccup turned, and saw Jack tackle Huffjaw, the four Thunderpede cubs chirping and tumbling around them. Jack acted aloof, brushing off the attention, but Hiccup saw the way he clung to Huffjaw, arms tight, face buried in her scales.

Their eyes met across the crowd. Jack smiled.

Hiccup grinned back.

Then, before he could react, the man had already closed the distance, tackling him into a kiss. The world blurred. Hiccup’s heart thundered against his chest, and judging by Jack’s expression, his was doing the same. Jack helped him up slowly, a blue blush creeping across his cheeks as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Jack started to step back, uncomfortable with the attention, but Hiccup caught his arm, squeezing gently.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

“Uh-oh,” Gobber muttered, using his prosthetic hand to shield a nearby child’s eyes.

When the pair finally parted Gothi tapped Hiccup’s back, and when he turned, she gestured for him to kneel.

“Oh no no,” he said quickly, “Dad’s alive and well. They’re just taking the scenic route.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Jack’s face broke into shock, then relief. His smile, before fractured. Was whole again.

“Everyone grab their dragon!” Hiccup called out. “Let’s start clearing the rubble!”

People began to disperse, dragons flapping beside them, wings stirring the air with purpose. Berk falling back into a familiar rhythm of rebuilding.

Jack turned to join, tugging at Hiccup’s hand to let go. But Hiccup didn’t.

“Jack…” he said, hesitating. He walked them aside, away from the crowd, while Toothless played with the Thunderpede cubs.

Jack looked at him, confused, claws digging into the seams of his armor. He was afraid, afraid of what Hiccup might say. And it was entirely Hiccup’s fault.

“Back at the battle…” Hiccup began, squeezing Jack’s hand, the boy didn’t look at him. “I sent you away.”

Jack shrugged, but Hiccup saw the pain in his eyes. The betrayal.

“I said some horrible things to you. Because I was hurt.” Jack opened his mouth, but Hiccup raised a hand. “It’s no excuse, I know. But I didn’t mean it. I lashed out. And… “ He shakes his head steering the conversation “you have a home here. You always will. Even if you don’t want all this-”
he gestured to himself and Jack, “-you’re welcome. You never have to leave. Or run. Ever again.”

Jack placed a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder, halting the flood of words.

“I want it,” he said, searching Hiccup’s eyes.

Hiccup blinked. “What?”

Jack gestured to the whole of him. “I want all… this.”

Hiccup chuckled at the expression, then understanding bloomed in his face. His eyes widened, breath catching.

“Thank Odin,” he whispered, grabbing Jack by the armor and pulling him into a private kiss.

The sounds of battle had faded. In their place: laughter, rebuilding, and the quiet hum of peace.

And finally, finally, Jack was at ease.

He was home.

Notes:

GUYS DISCLAIMER!

THE FIC IS NOT OVER. I MISS ONE CLIFFHANGER!!!

I have some things left to address there is still about 3 chapters left do not dispair. Once im finished I’ll make sure its crystal clear. Will mark the fic as finished will set all the chapters to 14/14 once i know of thats actually the amount.

(my longest uodate distance 6 days noone complain)

BYEEEE

Chapter 12: Read between the stripes

Summary:

Im to tired to make a summary pookies.

Notes:

I KNOW I KNOW IM LATE! I was on planes and renovating houses. Beeen BUSY. Hopefully its worth it!!

The wind was little more than a sigh, but North coaxed every scrap of it into the sails, his hands sure on the ropes as their vessel drifted through the glassy sea. The air was sharp with cold, the horizon fractured by slow-drifting floes of ice. He steered them between the pale giants with practiced ease, eyes flicking to the sun and the faint shapes of distant peaks, the markers he used to keep their course true.

Behind him came the unmistakable sound of retching.

Klaus grimaced. “My boy, stop chumming the waters. No fish wants to eat your carrot-and-lettuce diet.”

He laughed as he crossed the deck, clapping Aster on the back. The younger man shot him a rude gesture without lifting his head.

“Oh, come on, bunny, it’s not that bad. We’ve almost no wind, the waters are as still as they come.”

Aster gasped between heaves. “Do not call me that.” He leaned over the rail again, then jerked back with a strangled, high-pitched sound. In one motion he had his boomerang out, arm cocked, eyes locked on the water.

“Hey- oh, Aster? What is it?”

Aster backed away from the railing, chest heaving, colour drained from his face.

Sanderson wandered up with a yawn, Mary trailing behind him. The small man glanced at North, one brow arched in silent question.

North shrugged. “I don’t know. He just started screaming at the water.”

Sanderson padded to the edge, barely tall enough to peer over.

“No, Sandy-” Aster’s voice cracked, but Anderson only smiled and beckoned the others over.

Mary joined him first, then North, leaning over the rail. The water was dark and deep… and moving.

Pairs of fins broke the surface, gliding in slow, deliberate arcs alongside the ship.

“Woah! Dolphins!” Mary’s voice was bright with relief.

North’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder. “Not quite, Miss Overland.”

He tipped his chin toward the water. “Look closer.”

Mary squinted; and then her breath caught. The shapes were longer, sleeker, their movements too sinuous, their fins edged with something like spines. One broke the surface just enough for her to glimpse a scaled head, eyes glinting blue before it slid back beneath the waves.

“Dragons,” she whispered, the word tasting strange in her mouth.

North’s laugh rolled out, warm and booming against the cold air. “Looks like they like carrots after all.”

He straightened, gaze sweeping the endless expanse ahead. “Welcome to the Archipelago.”

 

The morning sun spills gold across battered Berk, and already the telltale clatter of hammers and axes rings out as Vikings set the village to rights, each swing falling into a familiar rhythm. At the edge of the square, Jack gently pries Hiccup’s arms away from his own, his voice soft and urging, “We should help,” he says, tilting his head. Hiccup’s resolve melts a little, he knows Jack is right, but he doesn’t want to leave, longs instead to hold him close, but the words stuck heavy in his throat. Before Hiccup can argue or apologize or ask for more time, Jack slips free, puffs a playful swirl of frost around his shoulders, and strides into the rebuilding berkians who once shunned him.

Three hours pass under a crisp sky while Jack painstakingly dissolves the offending ice spires that have sprouted like jagged teeth, crushing and damaging the villagers’ homes. Each blast of his power glows from within him, and though a few watch with wary eyes at first, his relentless effort soon draws them in. They rally behind him, offering warm bread, hissing cups of hot cider, and gentle scolding to rest before his strength gives out.

At the same time, Hiccup is pulled away to fill his father’s absence in the great hall. Jack catches his eye briefly, a silent plea flickering in the green, before he is ushered inside, Astrid at his side, her axe strapped to her back.

No sooner have they crossed the threshold than a storm of questions descends on Hiccup, each elder vying for an answer at once. Astrid slams her axe, or rather, the haft of it, onto the wooden table, and silence falls like a curtain. Hiccup rubs his brow and leans toward Astrid in a low whisper, “Remind me to talk to Dad about you inheriting the chief title.” Astrid forces a grin as she elbows him in the ribs, “I do, almost every day,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, but now it’s vital.” Hiccup presses.

“Wouldn’t it have been nicer to sort it out earlier?” Astrid teases, eyes rolling.

“See, this is why you’ve got to be chief, I’d never think of things like that,” Hiccup says, and she scoffs, both turning their attention back to the elders.

Spitelout’s fist slams the table, rattling tankards. “What’s the meaning of this, Hiccup? Explain yourself, lad,” he demands. Voices rise up asking how a routine trapper mission turned into Drago’s dragon army besieging Berk, how the bewilderbeast was discovered, how it attacked with berks best riders absent. Hiccup rushes to explain how it attacked a sanctuary where the two creatures battled. How they were trying to stop it there but failed. Then headed after the Dragon with the second alpha.

“There’s another one?” one councilor splutters.

Astrid steadies them all with measured calm. “It’s on our side. Stoick and Valka are bringing it here as we speak.”

A chorus of startled voices rings out, “Valka?” “What?” “She’s alive?”

At that moment, Valka herself steps into the hall, every voice falling silent. Stoick follows, pride radiating from him.

Stoick rests an arm around Valka’s shoulder, voice booming with relief, “Let’s call this meeting adjourned, shall we? Repairs come first. We’ll reconvene later.” He claps Hiccup hard on the back, creasing proud lines around his eyes. “Good job, son.” Hiccup meets his father’s grin with his own, “Thanks, Dad.”

As the elders walk out of the hall and Gothi passes Stoick, he motions for her to join him. “Walk with me,” he says, and together they drift to the rear of the departing councilors, whose scatter to help with rubble.

Beyond the hall’s doors, Jack rises between two towering bewilderbeasts whose low croons and tremors make the ground shake. From this distance all seems stable, yet Hiccup’s heart hammers in nervousness as thunderous rumble leaves Whompus. It lifts its great head in a deliberate, slow gesture that makes the young viking falter.

Slowly, it raises one tusk to meet the bottom of Jack’s foot, and Jack slumps onto the massive horn as the creature pivots, turning its bulk toward Berk. A few startled shouts and hurried retreats break the hush, but the dragons of Berk stand unworried, which calms their riders. The alpha lowers its tusk to the snowy ground close to Hiccup and Toothless, and there, panting, sits Jack.

“Jack?” Hiccup hurries forward, concern sharpening his voice.

Jack scratches the nape of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. “I’m fine, Whompus is just worried,” he says, stepping off the horn, and then he stumbles. Hiccup catches him before he can fall. Whompus’s glacial eyes follow them, issuing a low, croon of uncertainty. Jack laughs awkwardly, and Hiccup steadies him, but as Jack withdraws his hand, the red bloom on his palm and the blood seeping from a dented shoulder plate seize Hiccup’s breath.

He crouches to peel back the shattered panel, hesitating as Jack winces. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Hiccup hovers, voice tight with worry. He half-carries Jack toward the heart of Berk. “We need to get you to Gothi.”

Jack plants his feet, gaze drifting to the ruined huts and the two bewilderbeasts looming like huge sentinels against the sea. “But there’s so much left to do,” he protests, voice catching in the wind. “I can help them, they’re confused and hurt.” Hiccup catches the faint hitch in his tone, this is about more then the beasts behind him.

“Toothless can keep them company,” He says flatly, nodding toward the Night Fury. The black dragon perches on a frosted spire, issuing excited barks that the great beasts croon back to in kind.

“Right now I’m not letting you take another step until you’re patched up,” Hiccup declares, sliding an arm beneath Jack’s and supporting his weight as they trudge toward the makeshift hospital Gothi has set up in a storage hall. “But I am stepping,” Jack smirks despite the fatigue, legs dragging through the earth.

Hiccup rolls his eyes, though the way Jack leans on him, barely holding himself, tells him all he needs to know. He rushes towards their healer.

 

The weight of worry sits heavy on Hiccup’s shoulders as Jack grows more and more foggy beside him, replying to every nudge with a tired, half-hearted smile. When they finally reach the makeshift healer’s hall, its door stands open.

“Gothi?” Hiccup breathes, straining to support Jack’s sagging form. From behind a carved wall, Stoick and Gothi emerge in a rush. “Son?” Stoick’s voice carries confusion and concern. He crosses to Jack’s other side, looping an arm under his shoulder and hoisting him upright as Jack’s lids flutter shut again. “Let’s carry him to the back,” Stoick says, and the three move swiftly into a smaller chamber.

Gothi sweeps her staff across the great oak table, sending tankards and bandages clattering to the floor. They gently lay Jack down. He tries to sit up, voice hoarse, “I’m fine,” but Hiccup leans forward, eyes blazing.

“You are not, stop being a stubborn idiot and let Gothi help you,” he scolds, eyebrows drawn together.

Jack smirks, taps Hiccup on the nose, “You’re bossy,” and earns a scoff from Hiccup plus a low chuckle from Stoick.

“Well the chief is my father,” Hiccup shoots back, and Jack splutters laughter that ends in a wince, “Ow… don’t make me laugh,” he warns, breath catching as Hiccup offers an apologetic look.

Gothi kneels, tracing runes in the dust with her staff, then nudges Hiccup until he stoops to read them. When he straightens, he turns a steady gaze on Jack.

“Apart from your shoulder, where else are you hurt?” he asks.

Jack forces a smile, teeth gritting. “I’m not-” but Hiccup flicks him on the forehead, “Stop it, just tell me,” he presses. Jack’s fists clench, and Hiccup slips his hand into one, quieting him.

“My neck and side are… sore,” Jack admits.

Stoick rumbles as he begins to unclip Jack’s armor, broad fingers working the buckles less gently than Hiccup would like. Jack flinches, nearly crushing Hiccup’s hand until a thin mist of frost blossoms across the table, sending Stoick’s hands back. Gothi nods, slipping away to fetch her supplies.

“Let me,” Hiccup pleads, but Jack grips his hand with iron resolve. Hiccup places a palm against his heaving chest in reassurance, and Jack’s tension eases just enough.

“I can lend you mine,” Stoick offers, rumbling low.

Jack stares as if Stoick sprouted another head. The chief chuckles, “Come, give me your worst,” and extends an arm just as he would a shield. “Let his whingy fingers handle the buckles.”

Jack laughs, fragile and sudden, taking Stoick’s hand and squeezing. Stoick’s grip is firm, grounding him, beard rustling as he smiles under it.

Hiccup bends to Jack’s shoulder once more, careful now. Frost creeps between the wood planks as Jack tenses, and Gothi returns, placing carved stones in a protective arc around his head. Hiccup murmurs apologies, but Jack is too busy squinting against the pain, determined not to crush Stoick’s hand after splintering the table with his other hand.

Stoick grins, “Is that all you’ve got? I wrestled dragons for a living, son, and I’ve yet to lose a match.”

Jack tries to laugh but only manages a huff of air. He grips Stoick’s hand tighter as Hiccup pries the last plate of armor free. Gothi moves in to treat his shoulder and lay poultices on the table while Hiccup clears the rest of the ice-hardened plates. Then Hiccup gasps at the sight of a dark bruise spanning Jack’s ribs.

“Odin,” Stoick whispers, but Gothi smacks his arm with her staff and gestures at the stones. One rune jutting out from the rest that are now frozen over, in crystal white light, softly glowing.

“The winter goddess,” Stoick says, eyes on Jack. He watches as hoarfrost coils around the purple bruise protective, soothing.

The chief exhales, wiping the sweat of his own face, “Of course,” he murmurs. Jack cracks one eye open as Gothi binds his ribs with linen. He looks first to Hiccup, then to Stoick.

“You’ve got some interesting figures watching over you,” the man says.

Hiccup meets his gaze with questioning eyebrow. They will speak of it later.

 

They finish wrapping Jack’s injured shoulder with fresh bandages, sling his right arm at the wrist, and patch the small wound where Drago’s pike caught his skin at the back of his neck, bind his bruised ribs tight. Hiccup supports him as they step out into the ruined village, Stoick at their heels, leaving Gothi to tend the others. They pass a half-collapsed longhouse where Vikings are salvaging what they can. Jack falters toward the rubble, but Hiccup’s grip holds fast.

“You’re funny,” Hiccup says as Jack manages through a tired smile, pausing before he adds, “if you think I’m going to let you do anything until you get some rest.”

Jack rolls his eyes, perfect irritation flickering through his exhaustion. “You’re not my mother.”

Hiccup exhales, “All right, then, I’ll call Huffjaw over, see how that goes down,” and Jack’s jaw drops, earning Hiccup a stifled snort. He catches himself, voice softening, “All you’ll do is get cozy in my
… home,” he says, nodding to where his hut once stood, now rubble, he winces, looking around for an alternate option.

Before Jack can argue that this is a sign, Astrid strides forward, nudging them both with a grin that turns tender at the sight of Jack’s state. She catches his weight on her shoulder and announces, “I’ve got just the place for you.” Too weary to protest, Jack lets her lead him away from the Haddock’s.

The door to the Ingermann’s home is already slightly open before they arrive. Astrid pushes it in with her boot and calls, “Mrs. Ingermann, I found him!” Fishlegs’s mother rushes out, joy lighting her face, then it falls as she takes in Jack’s bandages.

“Oh, you poor boy, come sit,” she murmurs, guiding Jack to the battered bench where three steaming pies rest.

Jack collapses onto it and Mrs. Ingermann cuts him a generous slice. Jack whispers, “Thank you,” and she starts, surprise softening into a warm smile. “You’re welcome, dear. Thanks to those frozen berries you sent me, I’ve been able to bake fruit pies all winter. All of Berk could sit at my table and I still wouldn’t run out.”

Astrid exchanges a glance with Mrs. Ingermann as Jack grows still. The only sound is the gentle tap of pie-fork on plate, until tiny, glinting tears crack as they fall, some shattering across the table, some making it to the floor before breaking.

Mrs. Ingermann’s voice is soft. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” she soothes, resting a gentle hand on Jack’s damp hair. Jack hiccups and wipes his eyes with the back of his palm, voice trembling, “I’m sorry…I don’t k-now why I’m cry-ing.”

“None of that,” Mrs. Ingermann chides kindly, scooping him another slice. “You’ve been through so much. It’s perfectly healthy to cry.” She settles a hand between his wings, her thumb drawing comforting circles as Jack tries and fails to stifle fresh sobs. “There, there.”

“Astrid, could you set up Fishlegs’s room so he can rest?” Mrs. Ingermann asks. Astrid nods and rushes up the stairs.

Jack protests, voice cracking, “I don’t need-“ but Mrs. Ingermann hushes him. “Just eat your fill and let us handle the rest.” She brushes hair from his forehead, fingertips cool against his skin. “Oh, you are a touch cold.” Jack leans into the touch, remembering a gentler hand and softer words once shared I a smaller home.

“I’m not tired,” he mumbles after polishing off two pies, as Mrs. Ingermann clears the empty plate and wipes his frost-split fingers with a clean rag.

“Sure you’re not,” she murmurs, lifting him to his feet. Together with Astrid, she guides Jack upstairs, carefully minding his wings. The old house’s beams creak but hold, beneath his unusual frame. They ease him onto two beds pushed together.

Jack blinks against the soft furs, whispering, “There’s still work to do-” but Mrs. Ingermann scoops him into the blankets and tucks a yak-skin cover over him for good measure.

“Goodnight now,” she whispers, despite being morning, smoothing the covers. Jack’s eyes drift closed, and he murmurs, “Thanks, Mum.”

Astrid and Hiccup exchange surprised, tender looks, relief and a little sadness mingling in their gazes as the boy finally drifts to some much needed sleep.

 

The work of rebuilding Berk settled into a steady rhythm. Villagers moved through familiar motions, mending caved in rafters, raising new beams where walls had crumbled, and honoring the fallen with quiet moments by fresh-carved markers.

Monstrous nightmares worked on drying timbers, but each day’s labor piled more lumber than the shattered buildings could ever need.

Valka led the mission at sea. Aboard Cloudjumper, her Bewilderbeast at the prow and a flock of dragons overhead, she scoured Drago’s ruined armada. They hauled broken masts, splintered hulls, and every usable plank back to Berk, turning wreckage into resources.

Gobber rubbed his hand over the half-destroyed forge and laughed. “This way I can make some adjustments.” With Hiccup’s design, they channeled the blast of the hearth beneath a massive stone slab on the second floor. The slab would hold heat like like volcanic stones do, perfect for Jack. On the cliffside ledge, they added a broad balcony, wide enough for a young hybrid to land or take flight.

Not once did Gobber or his soot-streaked apprentice pause their hammers until the sun dipped low. Only then did they drop their tools and trudge to the Great Hall, where the rest of Berk gathered around groaning tables of stew and fresh bread. At the back, elders and builders huddled over rough maps and lists: defenses rebuilt, rubble cleared, and most structures back under construction. With tomorrow’s lumber fully dry, they reckoned the village would stand whole again in two or three days.

“But what of the two Bewilderbeasts?” one weary smith asked, tracing a crack in the long plank he’d just seated.

Valka raised her mug. “Three,” she said, and silence filled the hall. “The female tends her cave’s and hatchling. Four if you count him.”

Gasps echoed against the stone walls. Four of these giants would soon crowd these shores.

Hiccup stared at his mother, voice low. “You didn’t tell me.”

She smiled. “I hardly had the time.”

Stoick stroked his beard. “Their sanctuary’s gone. Could we control where they build another?”

Valka traced a cluster of isles on a battered map. “Anchor it around the little skerries beyond the bay. Unclaimed dragons will have plenty of space. I just need to figure out how to get them to create it there.”

Heads nodded. Hiccup’s eyes brightened. “Jack can help with that once he’s awake.” Spirits rose a bit at the news of the dragon-hybrid returning.

Gifts had already piled high at the forge: furs, food, even trophies from hunters. But when the twenty-seventh weapon arrived, Gobber slammed his hammer down.

“He’s got claws sharper than any dagger and breath like those lumps over there,” Gobber growled, gesturing toward the Bewilderbeast on the horizon. “He doesn’t need arms. He likes warmth and soft things.” He shoos the line away. Even with Jack’s knew room he’s have no space to store all these gifts.

With a sigh he began melting down old swords for fresh supplies, the new forge hummed as it warmed the space up for the first time.

 

The next day dawned with a little more order.
Tasks were handed out, fish stocks replenished, sheep rounded up. Valka and most of the riders, save for Hiccup and Astrid, set off to escort the new Bewilderbeast and its calf back to Berk. The village bustled with purposeful chaos: terrible terrors crying over the harbor, barrels thumping onto docks, the bite of salt and smoke riding the wind.

But no matter how many duties Hiccup tried to bury himself in, his mind kept snagging on the same place. Every two hours, as if tugged by an invisible tether, he found himself outside the Ingerman household. Every time, he was promptly shooed away. He understood, Jack needed rest, but the hollow ache in his chest only deepened, a drumbeat under his ribs that no task could drown out.

Perhaps it showed on his face, because when he appeared for the fourth time, Fishlegs’ mother didn’t immediately send him packing.

He eased the door open, remembering the sharp scolding from his first visit, knocking too loudly might wake Jack. Warmth rolled out to meet him: the scent of woodsmoke and boiled herbs, clean linen, and the faint tang of salve. Mrs. Ingerman sat at the table, poring over the town ledger, charcoal smudged at her fingers, lips pursed as she tallied loss and gain.

Hiccup gave a small, sheepish wave. She looked up and rewarded him with a monumental eye-roll.

“Is he-?” he whispered.

Mrs. Ingerman’s lips twitched. “For Odin’s sake, you’re just as lovesick as your father was when he started courting Valka,” she murmured, but a smile tugged at her mouth.

Heat climbed Hiccup’s neck. He remembered the crushing hug Mrs. Ingerman had given his mother when they’d been reunited, the kind of embrace that said she’d thought she’d never see her friend again.

“No,” she continued, softer, “he’s not awake yet. I managed to rouse him for some soup around noon, but the poor lad’s been through a lot. His body’s working hard to catch up.”

Hiccup’s shoulders slumped, but her expression gentled. As he turned to leave, she sighed.

“Five minutes.”

His head snapped back, eyes wide.

“But Odin help me,” she added, rising to her full, formidable height, “if you wake that boy and he tries to get back to work, Chief or no Chief, I’ll break your remaining leg so you can’t bother him again.”

Her massive hand settled on his shoulder with a grip like a ship’s clamp. “Okay, sweetie?”

Hiccup swallowed hard, ducked out of her way, and hurried toward the stairs. A sharp “shhh” from behind made him slow so his prosthetic wouldn’t clang. Even so, the old boards protested in soft groans. He kept one palm on the wall to steady his breath, willing his heartbeat to quiet.

He slipped into Fishlegs’ room. The space had been rearranged, desk and bookshelf pushed aside, an older brother’s bed dragged in to join the corner bed, now buried under what looked like every yak-fur in the Ingerman household. The air was a hush of wool and resin and the faintest chill, as if winter itself had paused to nap here.

In the middle of that nest lay Jack.

Hiccup had never seen him so small. Curled tight, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them, tail coiled three times over like a living knot. Draconic ears twitched in sleep; two wings were folded close, membranes brushing against the furs with each slow breath. His legs and arms, so powerful when he stood, were now tucked in close, claws slack, the sharpness gentled by the soft picture. Standing, Jack always seemed to tower over him, all extra joints and dragon features, but here, in this little coil, he looked almost fragile.

Bindings wrapped his arm, shoulder, and ribs; the sling rested on the bedside table beside fresh bandages and a pot of salve. Hiccup brushed a few strands of white hair from Jack’s neck. The dressing there was tinged with red, the same pike that had punched through his shoulder had scraped his nape as he’d been dragged; the memory made Hiccup’s gut twist. He let his fingers linger on the cool scales that trailed from Jack’s ear, tracing the ridge as if he could smooth away the hurt.

How could anyone hurt him?

Jack shivered, curling tighter. The temperature dipped; a faint ribbon of frost laced the edge of the blanket, shimmering and then gone.

Cold.

Hiccup shook himself from his thoughts, retrieved a thick fur that had been kicked aside, and draped it over him. The weight seemed to settle the shivers. Circling to the other side tucking in the edge to the bedframe, Hiccup glanced up, and found himself staring into a pair of sleepy, ice-blue eyes.

A dopey, canine smile spread across Jack’s face. “Hi,” he breathed, his words misting in the air.

Hiccup’s own smile bloomed to match, the ache in his chest easing at once. “Hi.”

He crouched beside the bed. Jack uncurled slightly, a yawn rippling through him; wing-leather reached the wall with a soft thrum, and his tail slid off the bed with a gentle thump that sent the blanket slipping askew.

“You know,” Hiccup said with a quiet laugh, “I just covered you with that.”

Jack only leaned forward, brushing his nose against Hiccup’s before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Hiccup felt frost spark along his skin, bright and harmless as sea breeze.

He exhaled, threading his fingers through Jack’s hair, letting them trail to the back of his neck, where Jack winced. Hiccup pulled back instantly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack blinked, a little more awake now, pupils lazy, breath a cool ghost between them. Hiccup was already moving. He fetched fresh bandages, circling to the other side of the bed. Jack’s eyes tracked him, though he seemed too tired to turn his head fully.

“Wha—” he began, voice roughened with sleep, but Hiccup’s hand was already on his forehead, easing him back into the pillow.

“I’m going to change your bandage, okay?”

Jack hummed assent, clutching a fur closer to his chest. The sound was soft and contented, a dragon’s purr disguised as a human noise.

Hiccup worked with slow, deliberate care, peeling back the old dressing, wiping the area clean. The sharp bite of salve and honey mingled with the wool-warmth. He skimmed along the puncture at the shoulder where the pike had gone through, checked the grazed line at the neck, skimmed the stretch of ribs bound tight beneath the furs. His fingers flattened each fresh strip of linen as if smoothing it could smooth pain. He watched for the slightest flinch.

Jack made no sound, save for the soft return of his snores, a rhythm that rose and fell like waves. Tiny crystals formed and vanished at the corners of his mouth with each exhale. Hiccup’s heartbeat slowly matched that rise and fall, the drum under his ribs quieting to something steady.

He secured the last knot and tucked the bandage’s tail neatly away. “All done,” he whispered, though Jack was already somewhere far away. Hiccup pulled the covers snug, tucking the fur around his shoulders and, because he couldn’t help it, cupped Jack’s cheek for one last second. Cool scales met warm palm. Jack leaned into the touch even in sleep, the smallest smile ghosting his mouth.

From downstairs, a chair scraped, a ledger shut. Time.

Hiccup drew back, glanced once more at the small, perfect form of boy and dragon in the nest of furs, and let the sight brand itself into his bones. He eased to his feet, careful of the boards, careful of his own breath, and slipped from the room with the softest steps he could muster.

He didn’t look lighter when he reached the stairs. He was.

 

Jack slept well into the second evening.
After Fishlegs’ mother served dinner, he refused to be coaxed back to bed. Restlessness prickled under his skin, he need to move, to help… and, if he was honest, he needed to see Hiccup.

The cold hit him the moment he stepped outside. Without his armor or cloak, the winter air sliced through the thin shield of his bandages, needling his bruised ribs and aching shoulder. Still, he launched into the sky, wings catching the updraft, gliding low over Berk, just high enough to clear the rooftops.

The sight below startled him. The rubble was gone. Only a few houses still stood half-built, their frames glowing in the torchlight. The village looked… whole.

Then came the waves. Not from the sea, from people.
They looked up, pointed, smiled, waved.

Jack’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t used to this, to being seen, welcomed. For years, the only eyes on him had been wary, or none at all. Now every glance felt like a hand tugging at him.

A man carrying firewood over one shoulder paused, squinting up.
“Chief and the others are still at the Great Hall, boyo,” he called, nodding toward the largest building in the village. “If you hurry, you can get a few bites.”

Jack followed his gaze. The Great Hall’s doors stood wide, spilling golden light and the hum of voices into the night.

“Thank you,” Jack said with a quick smile, gliding toward it.

“Don’t mention it,” the man replied, but Jack was already too far to hear.

 

Inside, the Great Hall was a hit him with wall of sensation.

Heat slammed into him first, the heavy, smoky warmth of the hearths, thick with the scent of roasting meat and spiced mead. Then the noise: laughter, clashing tankards, the thrum of music, all layered until it was impossible to pick one sound from another. The air was dense with bodies, the press of movement, the scrape of boots on wood.

Jack’s wings twitched. His tail curled tighter. He’d fought in battles, faced down armies, but this was different. This was too much.
He can just wait for Hiccup back at the house.

 

At the high table, Hiccup sat poking at his food while Stoick launched into the latest retelling of the battle, how he and Jack had fought side by side, how the hybrid had swooped into the fray without hesitation.

Hiccup only half-listened. His mind kept drifting to the sleepy grin Jack had given him earlier. He smiled faintly down at his plate, the crowd around him blurring into background noise. It was over. The forge was nearly finished. The dragons were settling. Spring was a month away. Life was blooming again.

And this time, Jack would be here.

He didn’t notice the way the hall had gone silent. Didn’t see every head turn toward the door.

Jack stood there, frozen. Hundreds of eyes pinned him in place. The heat of the room pressed against his skin, the noise now a muffled roar in his ears. He craned his neck, searching for Hiccup or any of the riders, but the crowd was a wall of strangers.

A sharp smack to the back of his head jolted Hiccup from his thoughts.
“OW! What was that for?” he hissed, rubbing the spot.

“You’re too busy daydreaming about your boyfriend to notice him walk through the door,” Astrid said, jabbing a finger toward a very flustered Jack.

Hiccup shot to his feet, his bench scraping the floor just as Stoick bellowed over the hall.

“To Jack, the one who saved my life, and my son’s. Who stood for Berk when we did not stand for him!” He lifted his mug high, the words ringing like a hammer on steel.

Gobber was already up beside him, grinning wide.
“About time! Welcome home, lad!”

Jack’s head snapped toward the noise, taken aback by the declarations. Before he could even draw breath, the hall erupted in cheers and huzzahs. Mead and cider sloshed as tankards clashed.

The crowd surged toward him. A tankard was shoved into his hand. Dozens of voices clamored at once, questions and praise tumbling over each other. Hands clapped his back. His ears flattened against his head; his smile was hesitant, his heart pounding so hard it drowned out the words.

A shoulder bumped his injured side, making him wince. Instinct flared, his wings snapped out, knocking over a few Vikings, his tail sweeping the legs out from under a dozen more. The temperature dropped a few degrees, frost whispering along the floorboards. Laughter rang out.

Somewhere in the crowd, a path began to open. Fog curled low to the ground. Then, BOOM! A thunderous clang echoed through the hall as Astrid slammed the flat of her axe against an ornamental shield.

“GIVE HIM SOME SPACE! LET HIM GET TO HIS TABLE, FOR THOR’S SAKE!” she barked.

For good measure, she kicked a tankard with pinpoint precision; it sailed through the crowd and struck Spitelout square in the head, dropping him like a felled tree. The hall roared with laughter, but the crowd eased back, giving Jack breathing room.

Hiccup finally broke through them. Jack’s shoulders sagged in relief the moment their eyes met.

“You’re okay?” Hiccup asked softly, barely above the din.

Jack nodded, his smile returning.

“Good,” Hiccup murmured, and pulled him i for a proper kiss.

Jack made a surprised sound, then melted into it, tail swishing and knocking over another cluster of Vikings. The startled yelps and the clang of falling tankards made them break apart, glancing back at the chaos, ice now slicking the floor where Jack’s magic had flared.

They looked at each other and laughed, eyes bright.

Hiccup took his hand and led him toward the back table, making sure there was space around him. Jack followed, still a little dazed, but grinning. Astrid was already there, scooting over and patting the bench beside her.

Jack stepped over it clumsily and sat. Gobber grinned from across the table. “Did ya have a nice nap?” he teased.

Jack stuck his tongue out at him.

The room’s joy settled into a warm hum as everyone returned to their seats. A plate was set in front of Jack, steam curling into the air.

He was still in a haze, the noise, the faces, the sudden crush of attention had rattled him, but his friends had pulled him through it. Conversation flowed around him, laughter and clinking mugs, the glow of firelight on familiar faces.

Hiccup’s hand found his under the table, resting lightly on his thigh, a silent question. Jack glanced at him, blue blush creeping across his cheeks, and nodded.

Contentment settled in his chest, warm and heavy.

A guilty thought rippled through him, quiet but certain. He found his family.

 

They waited until the hall grew quiet.
Lanterns guttered low, the last voices fading into the night. Astrid had left long ago, her confident stride carrying her home after agreeing to take on Hiccup’s chief duties. Hiccup had watched her go, pride in her step, the weight on his own shoulders finally easing.

Tomorrow would be chaos. But tonight… tonight was Jack.

Hiccup’s fingers found Jack’s, the uninjured hand, and they walked together, ahead of Stoick, Valka, and Gobber. The forge’s glow flickered in the distance.

“Tomorrow we can grab the rest of your stuff from the Ingermans,” Hiccup said, turning toward the path to the chief’s house.

A wooden hand dropped between them.
“Not so fast,” Gobber said, wedging himself in with a grin that was half stern, half amused. “Before you two lovebirds get all cozy, we’re laying down some ground rules.” His gaze flicked between them, catching the red and blue flush on their faces. “Tomorrow,” he finished, steering Jack toward the forge.

Jack looked back over his shoulder until the shadows swallowed Hiccup from view.

The forge loomed ahead, its great doors yawning open. Inside, the air shimmered with heat. The clang of metal had long since faded, leaving only the smell of soot and leather.

Gobber’s voice broke the quiet.
“Welcome to your new stompin’ grounds.”

The wide smithing floor stretches out meeting them, racks of tools gleaming, dragon gear displayed like trophies. Jack’s eyes darted everywhere, drinking it in. Bigger than the Edge’s forge. Warmer. Alive.

“This here’s the heart of it,” Gobber said, pride in his tone. “Saddles, harnesses, tail-fins m, you name it. When things get busy, I rope Hiccup in. Been my apprentice near ten years.”

They pass under an awning where wooden order-slabs hang, each carved with a name.
“Managed to save a fair few from the rubble. I’ll be busy for days.”

Gobber steers them out to a side balcony, the night air cool against the forge’s heat.
“I hang hides here to air out. Forge is open on three sides so the air can move.”

Jack lingers, imagining himself working here. Gobber catches the look.
“Moved the main forge to one side so it stays cool enough for you. But only after you’ve healed.”

Jack’s ears dip, but Gobber claps his shoulder.
“Come on, to the main course.”

They climb the first set of stairs. Gobber gestures to a door.
“My room. If you need me and I’m not downstairs, bang away.”

Another door.
“Hiccup’s workspace. Full of sketches and tinkering bits.” Jack’s gaze lingers before they move on.

The next stairs creak underfoot. Gobber pushes open a door.

A wide, open room. A circular slab in one corner piled high with furs. Shelves lining the walls. A sturdy workbench beneath a window. A large closet. Support beams arching overhead.

“You can land on the balcony or use the stairs. Lever by the bed, heat from the forge runs through a pipe. This way warms it, that way vents it outside. Hiccup might’ve had a hand in that.”

Gobber nods toward two smaller doors.
“Kitchen’s through there. Lavatory’s the other way. Figured you’d want your own space.”

Jack’s throat tightens.

“Tomorrow we talk properly. Tonight, you rest. See if there’s anything you want to add.”

Jack’s voice is barely audible. “My room.”

Gobber meets his gaze. “Your room. In your house. Under my roof.” He grins, turning toward the stairs. “Good night, son.”

Jack stands frozen. “…Good night, Gobber.”

He stays still for a moment before he sits on the bed. His eyes fall to the nightstand, a single leather bracelet rests there. The last piece of his old life. He’s too afraid they’d recoil from what he’s become. But he knows he’ll have to say goodbye.

Because now… he’s found his home.

He curls into the furs, clutching the bracelet, holding them close as his eyes drift closed.

 

“Son, we need to have a talk,” Stoick said as they reached the house, his tone carrying the weight of a man about to wrestle a Gronckle in the dark.

Hiccup groaned. “Do we?”

“Yes, son, we do,” Valka replied, already gesturing for him to sit as they stepped in the door. The youngest Haddock slumped into the chair and buried his face in his hands like a man awaiting execution.

“You need to understand,” Stoick began, shifting uncomfortably as if the words themselves were too tight in his mouth, “there’s a… pace to things. When you start a relationship with someone, you can’t just get lost in the… heat of it all.”

Hiccup’s head snapped up, horrified. “D–Dad, you don’t need to have this talk with me again. I’m twenty years old.”

Stoick’s brow furrowed, his voice firm. “And how old is Jack?”

Hiccup froze. “I–I… I don’t know…” His shoulders sagged in defeat as Valka and Stoick exchanged a look that made him feel like he was standing on coal barefoot. He scrambled to explain. “He doesn’t know either! I mean, when he woke up, he was too little to keep track. He caused winter wherever he went, so counting seasons wasn’t exactly… practical. He only remembers the last few.” His voice trailed off, weak, the fight gone from him.

Valka’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. “What your father means is that Jack likely never had talks like this. He probably doesn’t know what’s happening… or what’s supposed to happen.”

Hiccup’s face went crimson.

“Hiccup, dear,” Valka continued, her voice maddeningly calm, “you are likely the first person he’s gotten close to… in a more intimate way.”

Hiccup stared at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow him.

“And I know you have good intentions,” she went on, “and your feelings are telling you to do all this and that-”

“Mom-”

She raised a hand, silencing him. “I know I said you need to take the first step. All I’m saying is… don’t run him over before he can take his.” She tilted his chin up until he met her eyes. “Okay?”

“…Okay,” he said softly.

Stoick clapped his hands together with the force of a thunderclap, shattering the tension. “Right! Now that’s settled, off to bed. Tomorrow’s a big day!”

And just like that, his parents vanished into their rooms, leaving Hiccup alone with his thoughts, which immediately began sprinting in circles.

Had he pushed Jack too far? Now that he thought about it, most of their kisses had been started by him. The handholding, the little touches, all him. Jack liked it, sure, but Jack was also perfectly happy just sitting close, sharing quiet. What if he’d been moving too fast? What if Jack didn’t even know what half of it meant?

He rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time, only to get smacked in the stomach by Toothless’s tail.

“Sorry, bud,” Hiccup muttered, rubbing his side. Toothless gave him a long, unimpressed blink before curling back up.

Hiccup lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his mind still racing. Somewhere in the forge, Jack was probably sleeping peacefully unaware of the turmoil his friend was going through.

 

The next days blurred into a grind of hammering, hauling, and endless decisions. There was so much to do that Hiccup barely had time to think, which, for now, suited him just fine.

Jack had been assigned to work alongside Valka and the two Bewilderbeasts, shaping the beginnings of a new sanctuary.

When the riders returned with the mother and her calf, the council gathered on the shore, holding their breath as Jack stepped forward to mediate the introduction between the alphas. Even among ordinary dragons, territorial disputes could be dangerous. But with Bewilderbeasts; colossal, and fiercely protective, the stakes were far higher. No one wanted to see what would happen if the wrong note was struck.

They moved the meeting to Black Heart Bay, far from the village.

From the ridge, Hiccup watched the scene unfold. Chillwhompus, Valka’s great pale alpha m, lingered at a distance from the mother and calf, his deep eyes unreadable. Hiccup had expected him to be the one to approach, to claim them as his own. Instead, the mother’s roar split the air, and she surged forward, not toward Chillwhompus, but toward Drago’s darker, shackled Bewilderbeast.

Hiccup braced for the clash of tusks, the shattering of cliffside ice.

It never came.

The great female pressed her head against the scarred giant’s, a storm of breath huffing between them. Their quills began to vibrate, a low, resonant hum rolling across the bay.

Oh.

OH.

This wasn’t a challenge. This was a reunion. Drago’s Bewilderbeast was her mate, and from the way she leaned into him, she hadn’t seen him in a very long time.

Hiccup made a mental note to ask Jack about it later, but the hybrid was already gone, a flash of pale blue sweeping low over the water toward the crooning giants. Jack had work to do. So did he.

The sanctuary took shape quickly. The little isles, the bay, and the surrounding sea became a new home for most of Berk’s dragons. The icy landmass grew under Jack’s frost and Valka’s guidance, its underwater caves perfect for the mother and calf. For now, they kept them apart from the father, just until the last of his shackles could be removed. Jack had convinced the beast to allow it, and once the iron fell away, he’d raced back to ensure the terrain was safe. With a handful of builders, Valka, and Jack’s ice carving, they shaped proper tunnels through the walls, with more planned.

The riders scattered to their own tasks: the twins rounding up loose livestock, Snotlout drying driftwood with Hookfang, Fishlegs taking over the council’s cataloguing so the elders could rest.

Astrid and Hiccup spent hours in his room, transferring every one of his chief duties into her capable hands. The sheer list made his head ache, but Astrid’s eyes only burned brighter. She would manage.

He and Jack only crossed paths at mealtimes, and even then, only if Valka managed to drag Jack away from his work. Hiccup sat beside him now, recounting his day, smiling despite the exhaustion. It was grueling, but he’d made a decision: no more than handholding until they’d had a proper talk. It was killing him. He wanted to kiss Jack, to pull him close, but his parents’ words still echoed in his head.

And they weren’t wrong. Jack never sought out more than quiet closeness, a shoulder pressed to Hiccup’s, a brush of fingers. He liked being near. But maybe Hiccup had been moving too fast.

Under the table, Hiccup’s leg bounced, a restless rhythm he couldn’t quite stop. Jack’s hand slid onto his knee, steadying it without a word, his attention still on Fishlegs, who was hanging on every detail of Jack’s description of the baby alpha.

Apparently, the mother allowed no vikings near the nesting cavern deep beneath the sea, only Jack. With the sanctuary’s tunnels, he could reach them easily. He spoke of the calf’s pale markings, the way it trilled when it saw him, and Fishlegs was utterly enthralled.

It was a warm, easy moment, until Jack’s gaze drifted from Fishlegs to Hiccup’s knee.

And then his expression went utterly blank.

 

A hand clamped over a bouncing knee.

Green eyes under strong brows snapped toward him. “What?” the boy muttered, pretending to be annoyed.

“You’re like a bunny,” Jack teased.

“Don’t call me that.” The boy rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, your leg’s bouncing against the table so hard the mugs are gonna topple.” Jack chuckled, his fingers drawing lazy circles into the other fourteen-year-old’s knee until the movement stilled.

“Well, if you’d finish your breakfast, we could get out of here,” the boy said, folding his arms.

“Just slurp your carrot juice, you weirdo.” Jack grinned, lifting his own mug. It was more honey than tea at this point, but he loved the sweetness.

“You know your teeth are gonna fall out if you keep drinking that sludge,” the boy grumbled, rolling his eyes again.

“No chance. I’ve got perfect teeth.” Jack opened his mouth wide in demonstration. “Aaah.”

Aster, because of course it was Aster, (Who else could it be? Jack shook his head) placed one hand on Jack’s head and the other under his jaw, gently closing it. “Yeah, yeah. Put your chompers away. No one wants to see that.”

Jack giggled, the sound bright and unguarded, and Aster’s own smile softened in return, no real bite behind the words. Jack drained the last of his tea, tore a bite from his bread, and scrambled over the table toward the door, snatching up his staff.

“LAST ONE OUT TO THE FIELDS HAS TO CLEAN THE PENS!”

“JACK!” Aster’s voice chased him, first offended, then… worried?

“Jack!”

“Jack…?”

“Jack? Are you okay?”

The voice was different now. A hand cupped his face, green eyes swimming into focus, another familiar set of green.

“Aster?” Jack blinked, the fog peeling away.

Hiccup let out a breath he’d been holding. “Are you okay? Who’s Aster?”

Jack hadn’t noticed the temperature drop, but the others must have, though no one mentioned it. The twins quickly picked up a side conversation to fill the silence. Jack drew in a shaking breath.

“Yeah-h… I just remembered something. Someone.” He rubbed at his brow, frowning. “It’s so confusing. I keep remembering pieces.”

“Keep? Did this happen before?” Hiccup’s voice was low, worried.

Jack scratched the back of his neck, winced, and his fingers brushed the scar there. He pulled his hand back, staring at it. “Yeah. Uh… I think they know me. The dad and the mom Bewilderbeasts.”

That silenced the table.

“That’s why they let me close. A-and today, when I saw the baby…” His gaze locked on Hiccup, desperate. “I swear I saw him before.”

Tuffnut leaned in. “Aww, you found your parents.” He turned to Ruffnut. “Wait, how does that work?”

Ruffnut smirked, lowering her voice like she was sharing a scandal. “One of them was dipping a claw into someone else’s burrow.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Groans circled the table.

“Wait, Jack, how exactly were you born?” Snotlout asked.

“Dude,” Hiccup shot him a look.

“What?! We’re all thinking it.” Snotlout crossed his arms, though his eyes flicked to Jack with a trace of concern. Jack, lost in thought, didn’t notice.

“Okay, no, no,” Hiccup cut in, tapping the table in front of Jack. The hybrid’s head lifted, eyes focusing on him.

“Jack started out just like us,” Hiccup said, his hand settling on Jack’s arm. The others leaned in.

“The alphas have the power to heal, kind of like the Buffalord.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, and Fishlegs eagerly slid a Buffalord card across to him. Jack took it with a small smile.

“But they heal sickness,” Hiccup went on.

“With their drool?” Jack’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he skimmed the card, earning laughter from the table.

“The Bewilderbeast heals injuries,” Hiccup explained. “I don’t know much about it, just that they only heal rarely. And when they do… what they heal changes.”

Jack’s ears dipped, and Hiccup knew he should wrap it up.

But Jack spoke instead. “I have trouble remembering things from before. So I can’t tell you much about it.” His claws tapped against the table. “I have a sister. And a friend? I think?”

The table erupted.

“Jack, that’s awesome!”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Younger or older sister?”
“What do they look like?”
“What do you remember?”

Jack’s shoulders hunched under the barrage.

Astrid’s voice cut through. “I think we can hold off on the questions for now.” Her pointed look swept the table. “We can give Jack some time to figure this out. Not like we don’t have anything to do.”

She stacked her plate and jug, stepping out from the bench to pat Jack’s good shoulder. One by one, the others followed her lead, drifting back to their work.

Jack stayed seated a moment longer, the echo of Aster’s voice still tangled in his thoughts.

 

Jack was furious.

The next two days fell into the same relentless rhythm, rebuild, repair, repeat, but something else had crept in, something that gnawed at him far more than the work. Hiccup was… different.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding Jack entirely. He still sought him out to talk, still smiled when they crossed paths, still laughed at his jokes. But the little things, the things that had made Jack’s chest feel warm, were gone. No more fingers slipping into his when they walked. No more gentle hand cupping his face mid-conversation. No more sudden, stolen kisses when no one was looking. Even when Jack leaned in close during lunch, or tackled him into a hug, Hiccup would pat his shoulder and step back, eyes flicking away. And every now and then, Jack caught it, a flicker of guilt in those green eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

Was he ashamed of him? Embarrassed? Did he not want people to see them together? Jack’s mind spun with possibilities, each one worse than the last.

 

By the third morning, after another of those easy, laughter-filled breakfasts with Gobber the one part of his day that still felt untouched by the chaos, Jack decided he’d had enough. He’d come to savour those moments: the clatter of mugs on the workbench, Gobber’s booming laugh at some ridiculous story from the forge, the way they traded jabs and tall tales like old friends. It was a small new ritual, a pocket of normalcy where Jack could just be himself, no battles, no expectation, just two misfits sharing tea and teasing each other awake. And as much as he loved it, the contrast made the rest of the day’s tension with Hiccup all the harder to ignore.

 

After sorting the new docks by the sanctuary, it was time for lunch. Jack flew over early, basket in his good hand. The moment he spotted Hiccup waiting outside the Great Hall with Valka, he swooped low, legs extended, claws hooking around Hiccup’s waist to snatch him clean off the ground.

“Jack!” Hiccup yelped, clutching at his legs.

“I’m gonna borrow him for lunch!” Jack called down to his parents, grinning at the startled shriek.

“WHAT-Jack, what are you doing?!” Hiccup’s voice cracked as Jack carried him higher, cackling until they reached a grassy ledge. He dropped Hiccup onto the soft turf before landing himself.

“You and I need to talk.” Jack pointed to the ground, and Hiccup sat.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Jack said, folding his legs and fixing him with a stare.

Hiccup waited for a breath before he groaned into his hands. “I-I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“I don’t like it. You’re acting… away.” Jack mumbled.

“Away?” Hiccup’s mouth twitched.

“Yes. Away.”

Hiccup covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “You mean distant?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes. Distant.” His tone was sharp enough to wipe the smile from Hiccup’s face. Jack’s gaze flicked to Hiccup’s hands, then away. “You- are you mad at me?” The words came out more fragile than he intended.

Hiccup’s head snapped up. “No- no, no, no. Jack, ugh. No. I just… realized we haven’t really talked about… well, boundaries. I wanted to ask you out properly after the repairs, and talk over what you want.”

Jack blinked slowly. “I told you, I want you…”

Hiccup chuckled. “Yeah, I know that. I meant how close I get to you. Holding your hand, kissing you… that sort of thing. I didn’t want to push you or move too fast.”

Jack held up a hand. “So you’re not mad?”

“Of course not.”

“You were just… waiting for me to- I can?” He reaches out as if to hold his hand.

“Yeah.” Hiccup gently reaches his hand to meet his.

Jack punches him in shoulder. “Ow!”

“Just say that next time!” He shouted. Then the tension bled out of him all at once. He clambered into Hiccup’s arms, hugging him tight with his good hand, pressing himself against his chest. His voice was muffled against Hiccup’s shirt. “You need to tell me these things. I’m bad at reading between the stripes.”

“Lines,” Hiccup corrected gently, rubbing slow circles into the small of Jack’s back, just beneath his wings.

“Those too,” Jack mumbled, holding him even closer.

Hiccup threaded his fingers through Jack’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

They stayed like that for a long while, neither willing to move. Then Jack started giggling uncontrollably.

“What-?” Hiccup began, but his stomach answered for him with a loud growl.

Jack sat up too fast, smacking the top of his head into Hiccup’s chin. Both of them groaned, then burst out laughing, rubbing away the pain.

“I brought food,” Jack managed between laughs.

“Thank Odin,” Hiccup sighed.

They settled down to eat, watching the bustle of the village in the distance. When Hiccup finished, he turned to find Jack already done, his tail curled loosely around them both.

“So… I guess what I wanted to ask, properly, is if you’d like to go out with me. A-as a partner.”

Jack tilted his head, smiling softly. “I kinda thought I already was.”

Hiccup laughed, giving him a light shove. “Just in case you can’t read between the stripes.”

Jack laughed too, shoving him back, and this time, Hiccup didn’t pull away.

 

Anderson sat at the very nose of the ship, chin propped on his knees, letting the salt spray sting his face. The horizon was a haze of grey-blue, the sea restless beneath them. He squinted at a pale shape far ahead, a massive iceberg, jagged and glinting in the midday light. He thought nothing of it… until it moved.

And then another one moved with it.

The water around them shifted, a deep, rolling swell that made the deck groan. A shadow slid beneath the waves, and then a fin, longer than the ship itself, cut the surface, slicing toward the “icebergs.” The vessel rocked hard enough to make the rigging creak.

Anderson’s eyes widened. He slammed his palm against the side of the hull, the sharp thunk snapping North’s attention forward.

“I see it,” North said grimly, his voice low, steady, but his hands tightened on the wheel.

Mary was already on deck, boots thudding against the planks as she came to see what had caused the sudden shift. She followed their gaze… and froze.

Aster crawled up from below, pale as the foam cresting the waves. “Holy eggwhites…” he breathed, the words thin and shaky.

Two gargantuan shapes loomed ahead, their sheer size making the ship feel like a toy.

“We need to go around those,” Aster said, his voice cracking, eyes locked on the titans as they slid beneath the surface. The water swelled again, lifting the ship before dropping it with a stomach-lurching thud.

“Working on it,” North grumbled, hauling in the sails to shift their course.

They were so focused on the horizon that none of them noticed the small two-person fishing boat gliding up alongside until a voice bellowed over the wind:

“NO NEED to soil your britches!”

Sandy turned sharply, spotting two men in the little craft. One had a bucket on his head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s simply feedin’ time for the lot, they won’t hurt ya!” the man called cheerfully.

“Oh, boy…” Aster muttered, clapping a hand over his mouth as his stomach rolled again. They are about to be eaten.

The fishing boat sailed on ahead, bobbing toward the distant giants. Mary darted to the bow, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“WAIT! Are you headed to Berk?” she shouted.

“YEAH! After fishin’!” the bucket-headed man called back.

“North, go after them!” Mary’s voice cracked with sudden joy. Jack was close. Her brother was close.

North eased the ship forward, his tone calm but firm. “Fishin’ takes a while, Mary.”

Before she could argue, a shadow swept over them. A dragon hoard, dozens, maybe hundreds, came swooping in from the distance, spiralling into a great living cloud above the water. Their wings beat the air into a roar, their cries echoing across the bay.

Aster went rigid. “We’re gonna die.”

The fishermen, utterly unfazed, sailed straight toward the swarm. Before anyone could reach for a weapon, the sea erupted.

The Bewilderbeasts breached, two mountains of living ice and muscle, tusks gleaming, water cascading from their ridged backs. They hurled vast plumes of fish into the air, and the dragons dove in a frenzy, snatching their prizes mid-flight. The fishermen’s boat was already piling high with the catch.

Even from the edge of the chaos, a few flying fish came their way. One smacked into Nicholas’s chest, he laughed, booming and unbothered. Another hit Aster square in the face, and North’s laughter doubled as Aster gagged and swore.

Anderson, grinning wide, began scooping the stray fish into a basket, utterly delighted.

“Huh. Guess it didn’t last long,” Nicholas shrugged, turning the ship to follow the fishermen, and, to their horror, the dragon swarm.

The wind picked up, filling the sails. Smaller dragons began to peel away from the main cloud, gliding down to settle on their masts, clinging to the rails, perching on the sides. Mary’s awe was tempered with caution, but Anderson was already patting the little lizard-like creatures as if they were old friends.

Aster’s eyes darted from beast to beast, every muscle tense. He barely noticed the ship jolt until the sound of ropes and shouting reached him.

They had docked.

They had arrived to Berk.

Notes:

Do we like?

Chapter 13: Somebunny I used to know

Summary:

Guess whos back?

Notes:

FOR SOME REASON PREVIOUS CHAPTER I STARTED WRITING EMILY INSTEAD OF MARY. Wtf is wrong with me. Jacks sisters name is mary. If u find andy emilys left over lemme know 😂.

The ship’s hull groaned as it kissed the weathered timbers of Berk’s docks, the sound echoing over the restless waters. Three burly Vikings were already there, boots planted wide, their thick hands reaching to seize the ropes North and Sanderson tossed down.

Mary stood at the rail, her breath stolen by the sight before her. The harbor was alive, ships slid in and out like great sea beasts, their decks sagging under the weight of glistening fish. Somewhere out there, she thought, one of those gargantuan white dragons must have hauled in such a bounty. And dragons, by the stars, there were dragons everywhere.

They wheeled and soared in every hue imaginable: emerald and sapphire, crimson and tan. Massive carriers rose into the sky with the catch clutched in their talons, while smaller, more mischievous creatures darted in to snatch morsels for themselves, heedless of the sheer cliffside that dropped away into the sea.

When the ship was finally lashed to the dock, North swung over the side with the ease of a man born to the sea, offering a steadying hand to each of his companions. Mary barely noticed, her wide eyes drank in every detail, so much so that she caught only fragments of North’s exchange with the towering Viking who approached.

“Splendid vessel you’ve got there,” the man rumbled, his tone warm but edged with something harder. “Haven’t seen one like it in these waters. Traders, are you? Bit early in the year, no?”

A thump and a groan drew Mary’s gaze, Aster had sprawled flat on the dock, limbs splayed like a man who’d just survived a shipwreck.
“Sweet carrotsticks… something solid,” he moaned.
Sanderson rolled his eyes.

“By occupation, yes,” North replied smoothly, “but I’m afraid we’re here on family business this time.”

The Viking’s smile thinned. His arms folded across his chest, and with a subtle nod to one of his comrades, answered in kind, something unseen shifted in the air. Aster straightened, his queasiness gone, he didn’t miss the silent exchange. He stepped protectively in front of Mae.

She leaned around him, hope and wonder blazing in her eyes.
“Excuse me, sir,” she asked, “we’re looking for Jack. Do you know him?”

It was a gamble, Berk was vast, and strangers rarely gave away what they knew. But the question seemed to catch the man off guard. He blinked.
“You mean the dragon fella?”

The words hit like a hammer. The group stiffened. Until now, all they had were scraps, Mary sighting of a dragon silhouette Astrid had called Jack, the lonely cabin on the cliff where every room was built for dragons, save for the strange human writing. Could Jack truly have been reborn as one of these creatures? And if so… how much of their friend remained?

Mary stepped forward, voice steady. “Can you lead us to him?”

The Viking’s expression hardened. “You’ve come at the wrong time, miss. Berk’s still rebuilding after Drago’s attack. I’ve orders not to let any suspicious folk in, especially if they’re after him.”

Behind him, the other Vikings seemed distracted, but the warning was clear. With a dozen warriors at their backs, North’s crew wouldn’t last long if they tried to force their way through.

Aster’s fists clenched, his body taut as a bowstring. North’s hand landed on his shoulder in silent caution. But it wasn’t Aster they should have been watching.

The youngest Overland surged forward, jabbing a finger at the startled Viking.
“We did not sail across the archipelago, through snowstorms and icebergs, for you to stop us now.”

She advanced, each word punctuated by a sharp poke to his chest.
“I. Am. Going. To. See. My. Brother.”

The man stumbled back, surprise flickering in his eyes. Sanderson lifted a hand to calm her, but Mary didn’t so much as glance his way. Aster’s hand drifted toward his boomerang as the Vikings behind their leader began to take notice, weapons shifting in their grips. North sighed, flexing his knuckles in readiness.

The Viking before them faltered, but the line behind him did not. One by one, steel hissed from sheaths. Mary’s fury burned hotter, and her companions closed ranks around her.

With a deafening thunk, a massive yellow-and-blue spike slammed into the dock between the two groups, splintering the planks. The air filled with the hiss of scales and the scent of ozone as a Deadly Nadder dropped from the sky, her talons biting into the wood. Her rider swung down in a fluid motion, landing with a thud that silenced the space around them.

 

“Someone care to explain,” the blonde rider’s voice rang out, sharp as a drawn blade, “why we’re pulling weapons on a trader crew of four?”

Her gaze swept first over the Berkians, cool and assessing.

“Astrid,” the lead Viking exhaled, relief loosening his stance. His composure returned in fragments as his eyes flicked nervously toward Mary.
“They came for the hybrid boy.”

At that, North saw Astrid’s shoulders stiffen, her hand settling on the hilt of her axe. She turned, face hardening like steel.

“How do you know about him?” she demanded, striding beneath the protective arch of her Deadly Nadder’s wing to confront the strangers.

Aster instinctively stepped back. She was smaller than the warriors flanking her, yet there was something in her presence, an unshakable confidence, that made her far more formidable. Thankfully He didn’t have time to test his instincts. As the rider calmed immediately the moment her eyes found Mary.

“Oh! Mary, right?” Astrid’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you here? How do you know-” She hesitated, weighing whether to speak further, but Mary’s voice finished her thought.

“Jack,” Mae breathed, the name trembling on her lips. “I—I know it’s hard to believe. And I’m not sure what’s happened to him. But he is my brother.”

She stepped closer, ignoring the low chuckles of the Vikings behind the dragon. Her focus was locked entirely on Astrid.

“I swear to you,” She said, meeting her gaze with desperate sincerity. And in that moment, she saw something shift, Astrid’s confusion sharpening into realization.

“The memorial,” Astrid murmured. “By the docks… that was for him, wasn’t it?” Her voice carried a strange mix of joy and grief.

“Yes! Yes,” Mary burst out, hope flaring. “Is he here? Can I see him?”

Astrid hesitated, her expression tightening.
“Mary… he’s-he’s not the Jack you remember-”

“I don’t care,” Mae cut in, her eyes glistening.

“Look-” Astrid began, but Aster stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. His voice was low, stripped of all levity.
“Are we free to go or not?”

“It’s not that simple,” she replied, arms folding across her chest.

“Yes or no, miss.” His stare was unyielding, the air between them could have been cut with a knife.

A long pause. Then Astrid sighed.
“Yes, of course-”

She didn’t get a chance to finish before Aster pushed past her, past the dragon, past the Vikings, bounding toward the cliffside stairs with a single-minded urgency. His heart pounded, maybe with fear, or maybe with the aching to see Jack again.

“It would be best if I walk with you…” Astrid called after him, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. Sanderson offered her an apologetic smile as he and North fell into step beside her. The Nadder took to the skies without its rider, wings beating the air.

“I have to prepare you,” Astrid said as they began the climb. “His memory is fractured at best. I don’t know how he was before, but-”

Her words trailed into the wind as they ascended the winding path, the sea roaring far below, and the shadow of the cliffs stretching long before them.

 

All Aster could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, a relentless drum in his ears.
He started walking.
Then running.
Three steps at a time, he devoured the cliffside stairs, his breath sharp in his chest. The path spilled him into the heart of a village, Berk, he assumed, alive with the clang of hammers, the scent of salt and smoke, and the ever-present shadow of dragons overhead.

He shoved past villagers hauling lumber, feeding their scaled companions, calling greetings he didn’t hear. His eyes swept the crowd, searching, hunting, for a familiar face.

Brown hair. That’s what he was looking for.
A tousled head in the square caught his eye, and for a heartbeat his chest tightened, only for the man to turn, revealing green eyes and a peg leg. Not Jack.

Aster’s jaw clenched. He was about to turn away when he heard it.

The laugh.

It cut through the noise like sunlight through stormclouds, deep, chesty, the kind of laugh that left its owner breathless by the end. He’d heard it a thousand times, in snowball fights and stolen moments, in the quiet safety of shared time.

Jack’s laugh.

Aster’s head snapped toward the sound. The peg-legged man was looking at a pair of white wings, and as those wings shifted, they revealed a grin, cocky, mischievous, unmistakable. Jack Overland’s grin.

But this was no boy of brown hair and warm eyes.
This was something else.

Pale as moonlight, hair whiter than fresh-fallen snow, standing tall on clawed feet. Ears tapered to sharp points. Aster’s breath caught, but not from fear. Rage boiled up, hot and bitter.

Here he was, laughing with his new friends, while Aster had mourned him. While he had laid wildflowers at an empty memorial, not because the sea had swallowed his body, but because Jack had found a new life… a new family… without him.

Aster stormed forward, scoffing at that brilliant smile he still had the gall to wear.
“Ya havin’ fun, huh, Jack?”

The hybrid’s head turned, grin faltering into a puzzled smile, as if Aster had interrupted a pleasant morning.
“Yeah?” Jack said, tilting his head in question.

“How dare you,” Aster muttered, fists clenching.

“I’m sorry?” Jack asked, confusion knitting his brow as he stepped closer.

“Yeah, you should be.” Aster’s gaze locked on eyes that were no longer the deep browns he used to get lost in, now they were brilliant, icy blues.

“How. Fucking. Dare you.”

He shoved Jack in the chest. The hybrid stumbled, but before he could recover, Aster was on him again, shoving harder.
“HOW CAN YOU SMILE AND LAUGH HERE-”

The younger Vikings nearby turned at the shouting. One short lad grabbed Aster’s arm. “Dude-”

Aster shook him off, voice rising.
“-WHILE WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD? FOR TWELVE YEARS, JACK! DID YOU HAVE FUN WATCHING US LAY FLOWERS AT YOUR GRAVE? IS THIS ONE OF YOUR MASTERFUL PRANKS AGAIN?”

Each word was punctuated by another shove, driving Jack back until his shoulders hit the wall of a building. They were eye level now, Aster had always been taller, but the dragon legs changed that. Jack’s head tilted again, ears flattening against his skull, a gesture Aster didn’t understand.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jack said, raising his hands in that old, familiar way he used to when Aster’s temper flared. But the smile was wrong, forced, uncertain. “Uhm… who are you?”

Aster froze.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “What.”

He stepped back, staring into those glittering blues, eyes that didn’t know him. The ringing in his ears drowned out the voice of a blonde woman with braids speaking to him. Around them, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Riders exchanged uneasy glances. A Pudgy rider muttered, “He doesn’t remember…” while another whispered, “Poor sod looks like he’s been gutted.”

Aster’s gaze stayed locked on Jack’s, eyes full of concern, but not love. Concern for a stranger. That’s what he was now.

Before Jack could react to the tattooed stranger’s outburst, voices began calling his name. The twins were trying to pry answers from Aster, but Jack’s attention was pulled to Hiccup, who was watching with wary eyes. Before he could do anything a familiar sound hit his ears.

 

“…ack. Jack! JAAACK!”

The crowd parted as a figure burst through, wild hair streaming, eyes brimming with tears, a smile breaking through like dawn.

Mae.

Jack’s breath hitched. “M-Mae?” His voice trembled. He took a step back, afraid of frightening her. But she didn’t slow. She crashed into him, arms locking around him in a hug so fierce he nearly lost his balance, only his tail kept them upright.

His hands hovered uncertainly over her back, the world narrowing to the sound of her sobs. “M-Mae?” he asked again, voice cracking. His vision blurred with tears, frost spiraling in delicate patterns at their feet as he fought to keep control.

The sobs shook her small frame, and something inside Jack broke. He pulled her close, holding her as if he could shield her from harm.

And suddenly, he was no longer in Berk. He was back in a small bedroom, years ago, when their father didn’t come home. Mae had cried then, too, and he had held her just like this, thinking if he only hugged her tighter, maybe he could take some of the pain away.

 

Hiccup was floored.

First, a man with grey-and-black hair, his arms a tapestry of inked symbols, had stormed into the square. At first glance, Hiccup thought he was attacking Jack, his stance was taut, his voice sharp. But then he’d heard the words. Not the tone, but the ache beneath it. This wasn’t the fury of an enemy, it was the grief of someone left behind.

Hiccup had wanted to believe it was a trick, some ploy to get to Jack. But the rawness in the man’s eyes… it was too real. Too human.

And then, before he could step in, a young woman had come hurtling through the crowd, colliding with Jack in a fierce embrace. Hiccup had raised a hand to stop the twins from interfering, catching Astrid’s approach out of the corner of his eye. She had two strangers in tow and a knowing smile on her lips. She caught his gaze and mouthed, His sister.

Hiccup’s eyes widened. Of course. This was Jack’s family.

So why did cold dread settle in his gut instead of joy?

A massive man with a long grey beard stepped forward, clapping his hands together. His voice rolled out in a thick, unfamiliar accent.
“Why don’t we take this somewhere more private, ye?”

The words shook Hiccup from his thoughts. “Y-yeah. Uh… yeah.”

He tore his gaze from Jack and drifted toward the Great Hall in a daze. Inside, a few vikings lingered, scraping plates, sweeping floors, finishing conversations. He knew he should tell them to leave, but his throat felt tight.

Then he caught sight of his father. Stoick’s smile faltered the instant he saw his son’s face. He pushed past Spitelout and strode over, brows knitting.
“What is it, son?” His heavy hand landed on Hiccup’s shoulder.

“I… need to empty the hall,” Hiccup murmured.

“What?” Stoick bent to catch his gaze.

“We need the hall, Dad.” The plea in his voice was quiet but urgent.

“Right. Okay. You got it.” Stoick straightened, turned, and let his voice boom against the rafters.
“AIGHT, EVERYONE CLEAR OUT! BACK TO WORK!”

“COME ON, YA LUMPS, USE YOUR TWO WORKING LEGS, FOR ODIN’S SAKE!” Gobber bellowed, herding the stragglers toward the door. Then he turned back. “What d’you need the hall for?”

Hiccup looked pale, as though he’d seen a ghost.
“J-Jack’s family is here,” he whispered, the words tasting strange in his mouth.

“Speak up, son. What’s going on?” Stoick pressed.

Hiccup’s eyes lifted, not with fear of an enemy or dragon, but with the terror of losing someone precious.
“His family just arrived, Dad. They’re gonna take him away. For the first time, he has a home, he has me, and they’re gonna take him away.”

Gobber blinked, surprise and hurt flickering across his face before he smoothed it away.
“Now, now, don’t jump to conclusions. All you can do is be there for him. The lad’s overwhelmed enough as it is.”

“Gobber’s right, son,” Stoick said firmly. “This isn’t about you. If Jack feels the need to go home, you have to let him. This is the part where you support him. Aye?”

“…Aye.” Hiccup’s voice was low, resigned.

“I’ll fetch them in here. You, wipe that grim expression off your face,” Gobber said, striding out into the square.

He found Jack still holding the brunette, Mary close, frost creeping in delicate spirals across the ground beneath them. The Riders had formed a loose circle, watching both the reunion and the newcomers. Astrid stood with a short, plump man, both smiling faintly at the sight. The twins were, predictably, pestering the tall, tattooed stranger, whose expression was a storm of confusion and hurt. Around them, Berkians paused in their work, curiosity drawing them closer.

Gobber stepped forward and laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Hate to break up such a tender moment, but would ya mind movin’ this to the hall? We’re drawin’ a bit of an audience.”

Jack glanced around, then nodded. He tapped Mae’s shoulders twice.
“Mae? Are you okay to move inside?” His voice was soft, his head tilting in that gentle, familiar way.

Mary looked up at him through tear-bright eyes and smiled. “Y-yeah.” She untangled herself, sitting back on her knees as Jack rose. He offered her a hand, and she took it, grinning through the tears.

Once they stood, Mary reached up to touch his face, her other hand still clasping his scaled one. “You’re so cold,” she murmured, surprised by the absence of any warmth, just like the last time she’d seen him.

Jack flinched, yanking his hand back as if burned. Horror flashed across his features. “I-I’m sorry,” he blurted, stepping back.

“No-no, it’s okay! It’s okay,” She rushed to reassure him, hating the distance in his eyes. “It’s not bad… just… different.” She extended her hand again, patient, waiting.

After a long, aching moment, he took it, hesitant, his scaled palm barely brushing hers.
“You’re… bigger,” he said, fumbling for the right words as Gobber gently steered them toward the hall. “Like… Mom?”

Mae laughed then, true and deep, though lacking his mischief. “I’m on a boat for a week, I cross dragon-infested seas, and my brother calls me big?” She grinned at his affronted look, and seeing her smile, Jack couldn’t help but return it.

He glanced back at Gobber. “Are the others coming?”

“Aye. Plop yourself at the big table, we’re in for quite a story, I imagine.” Gobber turned to wave the Riders in.
“Come on, ya muttonheads, what are you waitin’ for?”

The twins and Snotlout barreled through the doors, while Fishlegs and Astrid followed at a slower pace, exchanging glances. Astrid turned to the three stragglers still in the square.
“You’re his family, aren’t you? Get in here!” she called.

The short man strode in cheerfully, while the older one smacked the tall, brooding figure on the back.
“Stop sulking. I’m not missing another second with our boy because you rushed ahead and got your feelings hurt.”

Aster, grumbled but moved, Astrid following close behind. Gobber waited inside to close the door, just as Nicholas stepped through.

North patted Gobber’s shoulder as he passed. “Good work corralling the children,” he said in that thick, rolling accent, before heading toward the table.

Gobber froze, blinking. Then his jaw went slack.
“By Thor’s thundering thighs… who is that?” he muttered, staggering before slamming the door shut and hurrying after the group, eyes fixed on North, unblinking.

 

Jack sat at the far edge of a long, weathered bench, Mary pressed close at his side. Her posture was rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap, as though afraid that if she moved, her brother might vanish again. Twelve years of absence hung between them like a ghost neither dared to touch.

Hiccup approached, his steps hesitant. Jack’s pale eyes flicked toward him, a silent signal to take the head of the table. But before he could, Stoick’s heavy frame claimed the seat with the authority of a man who had never once asked permission. Hiccup settled across from Jack instead, trying to ignore the knot twisting in his chest.

A small blond man hopped onto the bench beside him, cheeks flushed, a grin tugging at his lips as though the tension in the room had no hold on him. He gave Hiccup a quick nod before turning his full attention to Jack, studying him with quiet intensity.

The twins slid into place beside Mae, their usual antics trailing behind them like a pair of mischievous spirits.

“So you’re Jack’s sister?” Tuffnut leaned forward, squinting at her. “You sure? You look way too normal.”

“Yeah,” Ruffnut added, smirking. “Want’s your magic power?”

Mary arched a brow. “He’s acting my half brother. His dad is a dragon” She whispers as if sharing a secret.

“I knew it” Tiffnut highfives his sister as the overlands chuckle.

Snotlout smacked Tuffnut on the back of the head as he sat down, earning a yelp and a muttered curse. Astrid rolled her eyes and took her place beside the blond man, while North, plopped down next to her. Gobber claimed the opposite head of the table, and the brooding, tattooed man leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, not caring to join the group.

Stoick’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” His gaze swept the table. “I’m sure there are questions on both sides. Let’s take it slow, shall we? Who wants to start?”

Silence fell, heavy and expectant, until a small hand rose.

All eyes turned to the blond man who had yet to speak. He looked directly at Jack, who finally tore his gaze from Mary and met the man’s eyes with an apprehensive smile.

The man smiled back, gentle and unhurried, before moving his hands in slow, deliberate patterns. The room watched in confusion, but Jack’s eyes widened in recognition. He understood.

North chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. Jack’s smile brightened, and he nodded, glancing at Hiccup before returning his gaze to the man. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The man’s answering smile mirrored Jacks.

The spell broke as the table erupted.

“Wait, what was that?” Snotlout leaned forward, baffled.

“Oh, is it charades night?” Tuffnut asked.

“No, that was last week,” Ruffnut corrected.

“Wait, isn’t it a weekly thing?” Tuffnut frowned. Ruffnut shrugged.

North interjected smoothly. “Sandy here doesn’t speak. He just asked Jack if he was doing okay… and if he’s happy.”

Jack ducked his head, unsure what to do with the sudden attention. Against the pillar, the tattooed man began thrumming his foot against the stone floor, frustration radiating from him like heat.

“That would’ve been really useful when Jack couldn’t speak,” Fishlegs mused. The words caught the attention of the guests, even the brooding man’s by the pillar.

“What do you mean he couldn’t speak? Bugger can barely shut up for a second,” Aster said, his voice sharp, his eyes fixed anywhere but on Jack.

The temperature in the hall dropped. Frost crept along the floor beneath Jack’s boots, his ears flattening against his head, breath misting in the air. His sister’s eyes filling with worry.

Hiccup reached across the table, his thumb brushing slow circles over Jack’s hand. “Jack doesn’t remember most things before he… left. So please, be patient. I don’t know what you know, but he was alone for a long time.”

His gaze locked on Aster’s, green eyes hard as steel.

“He didn’t abandon you or have fun while he was away. He was alone. Cold. Scared. Chased away with axes and blades from everywhere. He grew up without anyone around for years.”

Hiccup’s voice rose, fury sharpening every word. “He died! Under your care!” He stood, pointing an accusing finger. “He was just a kid. And it was your job to keep him safe!”

The Burgess group flinched, guilt etched into their faces. Hiccup scoffed.

“And now? Now that he’s finally happy? When he can speak and smile again? You have a problem with it? He was just a kid!”

A growl rumbled from the rafters. Toothless’s (who managed to snuck in like a true night fury) green eyes gleamed in the shadows, his anger echoing his rider’s.

Hiccup would have gone on, but Jack rose, his hand closing gently around Hiccup’s wrist, tugging him back down. A silent plea. Enough.

The tattooed man stepped back, horror dawning in his eyes.

North leaned forward, his voice calm but tinged with guilt. “You have to excuse my friend. He rushed ahead and missed dear Astrid’s explanation about Jack’s memories. He assumed Jack remembered when he made those rash comments.”

Fishlegs frowned. “Even if he did, wouldn’t holding someone accountable who went missing at five years old be a little overkill?”

“No?” the man snapped. “He was seventeen when the he decided to walk out to that boat. I tried to stop him!” His chest heaved, eyes locking onto Jack’s as though searching for something buried deep. His voice softened, raw. “But you didn’t listen to me.”

“Wait, wait,” Fishlegs said slowly. “You said he was seventeen when he… and that was how long ago?”

“Twelve years and some,” North answered solemnly. His eyes glimmered. “You look just like the last day you ran off from my workshop. Apart from the hair, the scales, and the, oh, Shostakovich, you know what I mean.”

“Wait… he’s older than me?” Hiccup’s voice was quiet, but there was a flicker of something, almost mirth, in his tone.

Astrid’s gaze sharpened. “I think you’re skirting past the fact that Jack doesn’t seem to age, Hiccup.”

Jack’s face paled, horror flickering across his features.

“Nah, for sure he does,” Snotlout said confidently. “Look at all the gray hairs he’s got.” He crossed his arms with a reassuring nod toward Jack.

Every stare at the table turned flat and unimpressed.

 

Mary leaned forward, her gaze sweeping the table until it landed on her brother. “I’d like to know how you got here,” she said, her voice steady but edged with something unreadable. She was a young woman now, yet she looked up at a brother who appeared no older than seventeen. The sight was… wrong.

The Riders shifted uncomfortably.

“Uh, well, he did save my life,” Hiccup blurted, leaning forward as if to shield Jack from the question. “We were out on a mission, after some dragon hunters. Turns out we were on an island where Jack lived. And, well-”

“I got hurt. A little,” Jack cut in quickly, before the Riders could launch into their dramatic retelling of how they’d nearly shot him out of the sky. “They brought me back here to treat my wounds. And after I destroyed a building or two, we thought it best to move to Dragon’s Edge with the others. Until we needed to come after Drago.” His gaze swept across his frineds, daring them to challenge his version.

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Gobber smirked, though he didn’t correct him. The small, round man beside him raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been with them for a few months now,” Jack added, smiling faintly, pointedly not looking at the man leaning against the pillar. But the man’s attention was already fixed on him.

“Wait, wait, so where were you for the better part of the decade?”

Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… around?” His smile turned sheepish. “I had a pretty nice cave set up for the last four years!” The attempt at levity did nothing to soften the devastation that flickered across the faces opposite him.

Jack’s shifted the topic. “I was actually wondering about your names,” he said carefully. “I know I’m supposed to know you. But all I have are pieces. I know Mae is my sister, but in my mind, she’s still about eight.” He turned to her, lowering his voice. “You look older than me,” he teased, earning a playful punch to the shoulder.

“Careful there, I’m not that old,” she said with a smile.

“My full name is Mary Overland. I’m twenty years old. That makes you twenty-nine.” She poked him in the chest. “And your full name is Jackson Overland. And your friends are right, with all your grey hairs, you look like a grandfather.”

“Hey!” Jack protested, though there was no heat in it.

The blond man beside Astrid lifted a hand, fingers moving in deliberate patterns. The grey-bearded man with the bushy brows translated.

“Sanderson Mansnoozie. Trader, settled in Burgess. You know him from always bringing home sweets you tried to swipe. He says he let you.” North rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Guess it’s my turn, eh?” He leaned forward, his voice warm. “Nicholas St. North. Carpenter, toymaker. I have a few trading vessels, one of which brought young Mary here. You used to come into my workshop for a snack, usually stayed to carve a few figurines before heading back to work. Had a strange obsession with-” He broke off, glancing toward the man by the pillar.

The rhythmic thump of a foot against stone filled the pause. Jack’s eyes snapped to him, recognition flaring. “BUNNY!”

The man’s eyes widened. “Ya bugger, took you long enough,” he said, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jack was already vaulting over the table, rattling dishes as he launched himself into the man’s arms. For a heartbeat, Aster stood frozen, then he crushed Jack to him, as if attempting to squeeze the breath out of the hybrid.

When they finally broke apart, Jack’s grin was blinding. “Blimey, you’re colder than an icicle. Are you dressed properly?”

Jack laughed and blew a puff of frost into Aster’s face. The man blinked in surprise.

“Kind of cold-blooded now, I guess,” Jack shrugged, circling him with curious eyes. “When did you get this big? When did you get tattoos? Do you still have your boomerang? Still only eating veggies? There’s no way you grew this much on veggies. Wait-how did they get you on a boat?”

Aster stopped his rambling with a hand on his shoulder. “I got on a boat for you, idiot.” His voice softened. “I just wish I’d found you sooner.” He pulled Jack into another fierce hug before letting go.

Jack’s chest warmed with something achingly familiar. Shaking it off, he turned to the others. “Guys, this is Aster. I call him Bunny because he eats vegetables, thrums his foot, and gets spooked easy.”

“Last name’s Bunnymund,” Aster said dryly. “Might’ve helped your creative naming process. Name’s Aster. Do not call me Bunny.”

They returned to the table together, the others shuffling to make room so Aster could sit at Jack’s side.

Jack rested his clawed hands on the table. Aster’s gaze lingered on them a moment too long before he lifted one, inspecting the scales. “What I’d like to know is how something like this happened.”

Hiccup’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Astrid cut in. “You came by boat, right?” The visitors nodded. “You saw the giant tusked dragons on the way? About the size of an island?”

Another round of nods. Aster’s palm settled over Jack’s hand. “A few rare dragons have the power to heal. Bewilderbeasts, we call them. They can heal fatal injuries, but not to human standards. It’s extremely rare. We only know of two people they’ve ever healed, one of them being Jack. We don’t know exactly how it happened, but from the state of his transformation, we assume it was severe. His injuries are likely the cause of his memory loss.”

Aster’s grip tightened. Jack’s gaze flicked between him, Mae, North, and Sandy.

“Do you know how it happened?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward.

“Jack-” Mary began, but North’s voice was gentle. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“No.” The word cracked. Frost curled from Jack’s skin before he forced a breath, steadying himself. “Please. I have the right to know.”

His eyes pleaded with them, lingering on North. Aster shook his head, but North only sighed.

“Very well. Do you wish for anyone to leave?”

“No,” Jack said softly. “I want them here.” His leg nudged Hiccup’s under the table, a careful smile flashing sharp canines.

Aster’s foot tapped again, the sound sharp in the quiet. He hated this.

“Guess I’ll start.”

Notes:

Yet another cliffhanger. U guys dont even have the right to be surprised.

Jack lived for 29 years.

He died at 17. Has memories of about 12. Complicated stuuff.