Hey guys! I'm alive! Sorry for the inactivity. School worrk, along with some stuff on the wikia caught up. But here's a piece I managed to find time to write. It's a 2-part story consisting of 2 one shots, each one's a little scene from Hiccup's life with one of his parents. Inspired by the fact that he has been part of a single-parent family for almost his entire life. These stories will revolve mainly on him remembering that even though he only has half his parents-semicircles of his circle-he should treasure them. Anyways, enjoy! And remember to R&R!

Chapter 1: Growing Up

To every boy, his father is the greatest man he has ever seen. Before every young boy turns into a man and enters the ever so challenging society, beating their father has always been a crucial step bringing them closer to manhood. They had just beaten the strongest man they've known in their entire life.

It was a sign that they had grown up.

Hiccup was no different. As the son of Stoick the Vast, he couldn't help but marvel at how powerful his father was. Physically, he was well-muscled and tall and carried himself with dignity and pride. Each stride was wide and commanding. And whenever he spoke, his voice boomed like thunder.-as if it could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas. The young Viking could not help but have all his hopes on being like his father.

During his childhood, he would often challenge his father in a short battle of arm wrestling. To anyone else, the stick-thin ten-year old stood no chance against the buff Viking with biceps the width of the former's waist. But the kid was as thick-headed and stubborn as his father was when he was his age, with big dreams and far-reaching ambitions.

Like crunching a dried leaf in fall, Stoick would hook his hand over Hiccup's and slam it against the table within seconds. The boy would squirm and twist his arms until his red face was contorted with fury and frustration. His competitor, however, stood only as expressionless as usual. It was only when he heaved in a last gasp of air and his arm fell helplessly against the wooden table that Stoick let go, revealing a throbbing palm beneath.

Hiccup's glared at his father rubbing his hand tenderly. The mix between anger, disappointment and longingness flashed across his green eyes when he looked up, expecting Stoick to comfort him.

Unfortunately for him, his father simply snorted in amusement and remarked mockingly, "Perhaps when the time is right, son."

Hiccup spent most of his time helping out at Gobber's blacksmith shop, hoping to gain a few more pounds by wielding swords and hoisting stone hammers. Gobber would often find him punching a dead tree trunk during his lunch break, and wince pitifully as the young boy returned with bloody knuckles.

When Hiccup was thirteen, he thrust his fists towards the tree trunk forcefully. A splinter penetrated his palm and he recoiled back with a cry. Pressing this wound tightly, he bit back his tears and cried at the tree, cursing in old Norse and kicking its roots. It was only when he looked up that he realised a deep imprint of his knuckles on the tree trunk. With a short whoop of joy, he sprinted towards Gobber's shop, ripped off a piece of cloth and slapped it across his palm before leaving.

"I'm here for a challenge!" Hiccup demanded triumphantly, throwing the doors open. He slammed his hands against the teak table, ignoring the pain that shot up his palm.

Stoick simply stroked his ginger beard with raised brows, before holding his arm out. Smirking, Hiccup slapped his petite hands against his father's and sat down.

Three. Two. One. Hiccup strained his palm against his father, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Blood lingered in his mouth and his eyes were squeezed shut. There came the surge of force.

One shot, make it count.

A squeal escaped his lips as he pressed his weight against the palms, trying desperately to ignore the pain on this palm and keeping his wrist of snapping backwards. His bottom lip was going to tear under his bite soon. He could feel it.

In that painful second, he seemed to see the interlocked fingers angled down towards his right.

Yes. Yes. YES! Love of Odin.

And the next split second, his body was tugged to his left, followed by a loud slam and a sickening crunch. An excruciating pain throbbed through his entire arm. He squirmed away, grasping his left palm tenderly while trying to keep the tears from spilling.

His eyes darted up. There he was, emotionless.

Shock turned into anxiety and Hiccup stood up and yelled at no one or thing in particular. Kicking the table hard, he swore heavily and stomped out the Meade Hall.

Gobber had just entered, only to see a really grumpy Hiccup with rolled up sleeves take rigid strides towards him. Confused, he glanced at his best friend, who still sat upright in his seat. Sensing the tension in the room, the imprint from Hiccup's kick etched with ire on the table base and Stoick's left arm resting on the table top, everything fell into place.

A frown drew across his face. "You couldn't let that kid win once, could you?"

Stoick shook his head. "I could. But would the rest of the world let him win?"

Hiccup hesitated at his spot outside the Hall. Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder.

"You're getting there, son," Stoick assured, though his voice carried no sympathy whatsoever.

Days stretched into months, and eventually years. Nineteen-year old Hiccup had stopped being so hard up on that incident, but regular playful spars with Astrid and riding dragons had proven to be beneficial.

So he ambled in that day, calm and composed and walked up to his father who was sipping mead. He took a seat.

"Dad? I think I'm ready."

Stoick did not stop drinking, but instead shot him a quizzical look.

Hiccup held out his left arm. "I said, I think I'm finally ready."

Stoick put his cup down and fixed his eyes on the waiting, outstretched palm for a few seconds. Finally, he readied himself and put his against Hiccup's.

Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut. Was he ready? He really couldn't tell. But it felt right. He had gotten all the tricks right. The key was speed. Throw his father's arm off its centre of gravity to knock it off a comfortable pane of balance. Perhaps, that would work.

It had to.

Hiccup opened his eyes, staring right into his father's. Silence rang out in his ears, but his heart throbbed loudly from within him. One shot. Make it count. One deep breath. One nod.

Three. Two. One.

Hiccup could not care less, shielding his eyes from the view once again, he just wrenched his arm towards him slightly to throw him off balance and pushed down with all his might. His hand was trembling, he could feel it. But he squeezed his father's hand tighter and forced it down.

A loud thud.

Silence.

Holy Thor. He peeled one eyelid open.

Odin's Beard. His eyes looked at the palms rested on the table.

He swore on all five gods that this could not be true.

He released his father's hand, mouth still agape. How? He was definitely not stronger than his father. Was it luck? Science? Technique? Magic? His eyes still transfixed on the table. And then on his father, whose proud smile made him smile brighter.

He had grown up.

Finally, he felt that he could rub it in his father's face. He stretched an arm behind his back and pulled, warming up for the morning run they had both participated in after his victory. He aimed to sprint, show his father that he could beat him in speed too. A grin grew on his face.

"Ready?" Stoick asked, hoisting a sheep onto his broad shoulders with ease.

Hiccup smiled back, heaving up the sheep cumbersomely over his lankier frame. He was born ready.

Three. Two. One. He surged forward with force, pumping his legs furiously. The weight of the sheep pressed down against his back and he sucked in a short, deep breath. Focusing on the rhythmic pounding of his feet, well, foot, he kept his eyes on the front. His father was not in front of him, a triumphant smug smirk formed.

But where was he?

He slowed to a stop. Beneath his heavy breathing, heavy but slow footfalls sounded from behind him. He looked over his shoulder once more.

While he seemed to have no trouble with the heavy sheep on his muscular frame, his breathing was rapid and troubled. His strides seemed to send aches up his joints. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead as he huffed and puffed towards Hiccup. Clearly, he was struggling to keep up with his pace.

That was strange. Very strange. He wasn't usually that slow. Or had such a short stamina. Hiccup looked at the figure with concern. That's when he realised. The greying strands amongst his beard. The wrinkles forming on his face. He wasn't the only one who did some growing up over the past few months.

Finally, he caught up. "Go on," Stoick managed.

Hiccup smiled weakly and started running. But this time, he set his footsteps to a jog alongside his father. Slow, steady but confident. Both of theirs.

He had matured.

And... it's a wrap! For this chapter, at least. Looking forward to writing part 2, though it may come a bit late cause exams . Apologies in advance. But if you like it, remember to favourite and review it! See ya!