Here is chapter two. Enjoy! C:

Toothless watched as his trusted axe zip through the air, almost as though the weapon was disobeying the laws of gravity. Perhaps its spinning motion gave the boy the illusion that it was gaining speed and altitude? Whatever the case was, his eyes followed the axe as it neared the peak of its motion, waiting for the sound of an impact and that dragon's agonized screech. Any moment now… That was when Toothless noticed the axe arc for another target: the ground.

The throw stunk. Great.

The axe lacked power and momentum. Toothless didn't throw it with enough force to truly take down a dragon in mid-flight-he was a measly little fourteen year old boy, not a big, burly Viking like his father. But, like any prideful teenagers, Toothless looked for something else to blame for this failure. The night fury most likely just dodged it. After all, only a really stupid dragon would stay still and let a Viking kill them.

Yeah, that was it.

Or, maybe, it was the darkness that could be to blame! At night, it was especially hard to judge the depth of an object and how far something really was. A dragon's dark figure plastered against the starry night sky gave little to no clue to the true whereabouts of the creature-Toothless simply misjudged the distance between them. But, this justification sort of put the blame back on himself again. Hm. The dragon dodged it. Let's go with that.

Thunk. Looks like someone's axe finally decided to revisit Earth.

"Who threw thi-Toothless!" the teen heard someone yell from afar. Did his weapon somehow land near someone or something?

The answer was yes.

And that someone was his father.

If Toothless made the effort to look closer that where the axe was located, he would understand that the blade had cozily embedded itself into a large wooden structure, roughly seven feet from the ground. Which was also roughly his father's height. Dear Odin… Stoick was now storming over to where his son stood, one hand firmly gripped around his hammer while the other, Toothless' axe.

Toothless' accuracy was wonky in that he couldn't hit a target the size of his house, but was perfectly capable of potentially hitting his father in the face.

"What's the meaning of this?" Stoick demanded, tone firm and eyes angry, now towering over his (cowering) son.

"I-uh... It was a tiny mistake. Y-you see, I, uh, kinda..." Toothless fumbled for his words. "I saw, I mean, we all saw, but I had a clear saw-" Toothless was starting to lose his ability to form coherent sentences. "-I had a clear shot at the night fury and I blew my chance."

Stoick was speechless for a second. "Are you insane?!" Yup, he was definitely angry. "There is a reason why you're only allowed a bucket right now. Throwing an axe? What if you hurt someone? You know your aim is the worst!"

"Well, if you put it that way, it kinda makes me sound incompetent," Toothless retorted.

"You are!" Stoick immediately responded, obviously frustrated.

"Gee, thanks." The good ol' Viking bluntness. No need to consider each other's feelings or anything useless like that.

Stoick sighed. "Look, son, there is a reason why a Viking must go through dragon training before being allowed to fight dragons. Handing an untrained Viking a weapon is like giving them the death sentence: it makes them feel a false sense of pride, as though with that thing, they could take on the world." Great, his dad was now giving him the speech. "But-"

"But in reality they can't and will die and potentially drag down everybody else with them. Yeah, I heard it all." This wasn't the time for any lecturing, so Toothless quickly summarized the rest of it for Stoick. "But dad, I really did have a clear shot!"

The chief weighed his son's weapon in his hand. "This axe won't do enough damage to a dragon to kill one. Let's say you did hit the night fury. You now have its full attention. It is angry. What are you going to do? You're not incompetent, but you are untrained. How will you protect yourself from the wrath of a night fury?"

"That is..." Toothless began, "a very good point." He was perhaps slightly too over-confident.

"No one has ever killed a night fury, Toothless." Stoick handed the axe to his son. "Don't try to do the impossible; it'll just get you killed."

Toothless wanted to disagree with what his father had just said, but found himself incapable of formulating a good argument for his cause without making him sound like an idiot. The teen firmly believed that any dragons could be conquered if one set their mind to it, and he was pretty sure that everybody thought certain dragon species were untouchable until that one person managed to take down one of those beasts: there will always be a "first" to anything. Toothless truly believed that he could be the first to kill a night fury. "Yeah, I kn-" The boy's sentence was cut short by the prompt arrival of a Viking.

"Chief!" At this point, both father and son had forgotten that a battle was raging elsewhere in Berk. That is, until this fellow Viking jogged up to Stoick. "The dragons are retreating. We have captured three Deadly Nadders, a Monstrous Nightmare, and several Gronkles."

"Casualties?"

"None, sir."

"Damages?"

"Not assessed yet." Toothless didn't think anyone needed: a look around and one would understand that literally every building had been scorched.

"Alright. I'll go check the docks. Go tell the others to put those beasts with the rest." Yup. Here was Stoick the Chief, doing chiefly things. "And Toothless-" the man finally paid attention to his son awkwardly standing there "-stay out of trouble."

And thus Toothless was left alone with nothing but his axe. Ugh. Talking with his overprotective old man always tired him out.

The dragon was furious, embarrassed, humiliated, and traumatized.

The dragon was also slightly over-dramatic.

He was just soaring over this rocky island, minding his own business and doing his job, when a Viking weapon shaped like two (very fat) burnt bananas stuck together came flying at him. Of course, it missed, but just the thought of a human even seeing him made his stomach twist and turn. How could he call himself the Dragon of the Night if the night didn't even keep him from discovered? Ugh.

He was a failure.

In three hundred years, nobody had laid eyes on his kind. No longer! And now, many others would laugh at him for his inability to be a dragon, and then kick him out because he had one job, which was to keep everyone safe, and failed. Practically half of his comrades got captured or killed by those revolting humans, and it was all his fault. Stupid. So stupid!

Might as well exile himself right now to save everyone some trouble.

Which was exactly what he did, turning around and landing on the nearest island he could find. Life was not kind to this small night fury.

That is all! I didn't expect this fic to be as popular as it is, so I was kinda surprised. Nevertheless I got writing.

Some responses to reviews:

Thank you, grespeciatto, Gingehfish, The Glass Sea, a random person, Guest, and Niendil for your kind reviews. c:

a random person: In my mind, Toothless is the perfect athlete and Viking, while Hiccup is the failure/runt dragon. They both think differently due to their differing personalities, and in different bodies, I believe the sequence of events would be drastically different. So in a sense, this fic also heavily diverges from the movie from the start. Even if there might not be any point to it, it could make a nice adventure, right? c:

Guest: huehuehue too late I already did it :D