A/N: I don't own HtTYD. At all.
Intense heat, claws of agonizing fire reaching up, only wanting to survive, to live. To do that, it must devour anything and everything in its path.
Toothless darted between the large dragon's spikes with the help of the toothpick on his back. Racing against time. Effortlessly. It was (literally) a breeze with the smoldering flames creating warm updrafts. They were going to make it out alive; he was determined to make it so. But something was missing.
His fake tail fin. From the firestream before. 'Might actually explain why part of my tail felt like it was being dipped into lava,' he mused. He felt and heard the bent skeleton of the prosthetic fall. The cries of denial from his rider. The Red Death's club-like tail curling into them, desperate to hit, desperate to take somebody with it...
He was not hit directly, though he felt the impact. The obsidian dragon found himself spiraling helplessly in the air, wings flapping madly, claws scrabbling for nonexistent purchase. His back was undoubtedly lighter, missing a familiar weight. Hiccup. Hiccup was hit.
The raging inferno seemed to greedily attempt to grasp the chief's son, calling out for gravity to deliver the boy. Toothless could not allow it. Consciously or not, he pulled himself into a dive, maneuvering in the hopes of reaching his best friend before he burned. His paws stretched as far as he could, longing for the only friendly touch any dragon has gotten from a human in 300 years. A vaguely loud draconic roar pierced his ears.
Flames engulfed the two from the other Vikings' sight. It burned his eyes, yet he kept the green orbs open as wide as possible. They rapidly flew back and forth, blinded as they were by reds and oranges and yellows, searching for a shape. And he found it.
He tucked himself in even tighter, determined to catch up. Scaled paws hooked on a green material, twoleg's makeshift fur.
A booming bellow was let loose in a shout of victory. Toothless instinctively curled around the prone figure, like a mother would a babe. Leather wings shrouded Hiccup. He allowed his body to drop like a stone, taking Hiccup with him. He allowed darkness, such a dramatic contrast to the brightness before, to encompass his vision. He wasn't afraid for himself.
Despite the fact his large eyes were closed, exhaustion increased tenfold. Every little movement against his person - er, dragon - made his hide tingle. What was surprising was the utter silence around them, besides the sound of heavy footsteps.
What mattered most was that they were both safe.
"Hiccup." A sigh. "Oh son... I did this." A hesitant pause. "I'm so sorry." Broken, ragged sobs that pierced Toothless' heart. Hiccup's hiding place unfurled, revealing his limp body. Black eyelids forced themselves open to gaze at Stoick, then his son and heir. The large man's eyes widened, and he was checking for heartbeat as fast as a Night Fury.
Innocent eyes filled with confusion when the chief began crying even harder. Hiccup fell from his father's grasp and onto the grey ground. The hope that blossomed on all of the Vikings' faces abruptly fell. Toothless dragged himself up and padded the few steps it took to rest his snout on the limp boy. He didn't understand. He couldn't. It wasn't possible.
No.
No.
Hic was always stronger than the others. He was alive. He had to be.
Human and dragon cries alike called out to the tamed Night Fury; calling for him to stop, to back away. Several attempting to drag him away. He wouldn't let them seperate him from Hiccup.
Already he could feel the cold creeping over the boy, another element of nature claiming its hold on him.
High-pitched whines did not rouse him. Loud clambering pawsteps did not rouse him. Nuzzling, bumping, roaring, did not wake him.
He was motionless.
He couldn't. H-he wouldn't. He would never leave him behind. All he had was him; all of his life, depended on him. They were supposed to go through the world's challenges together.
Now he was gone.
If only he had been faster. If only he had his whole tail. If only... If only. The sole meaning of life. If's and but's.
The world just seemed to crumble around him, being twisted inside-out and upside-down.
The tribe converged on them then, a big mistake. Toothless roared, loud and clear, tinged with grief. The dragons immediately backed off. The Hooligans did not. His pupils narrowed into slits, and he stood over his rider protectively. Nobody came any closer for fear of feeling a plasma blast point-blank, or razor-sharp claws swiping.
What made him back off was the pathetic look in Stoick's face.
Toothless whined and pawed at the sheet covered coffin. He looked over at the mainland the two were sailing away from. The teens and the chief were already nocking their flaming arrows. Giving one last nuzzle to the body, he scrambled haphazardly onto the mast of the small boat and spread his wings, rocking the wood in the process. Wings flapped madly and leveled out into a glide, landing clumsily just beyond the archers.
One by one, they were released. One by one, fire-tipped spears landed on the boat. The final act of honour a Viking could be given. The offspring of lightning and death took off once more, hovering just above the floating carrier, charging up a small fireball. The last thing he could do for him.
With great hesitation, the weak projectile was loosed, hitting the coffin dead-on.
The small raft was soon engulfed, and Toothless' other half was gone.
A low keening noise sounded, loud enough for Odin to hear. The last salute a Night Fury could bestow.
Unbeknownst to the dragon, a fast-fading thin boy with auburn hair grinned a crooked grin, stroking the pitch black scales below him. "Thanks for this last fly, bud."
A/N: This has been bouncing around my head for awhile. Poor Toothless... :( R&R!