Chapter 7 - Cold

Summary: Dragons don't feel cold as acutely as humans. And yet, Toothless is.

A/N: Well, this got really long and drawn-out, huh xD I INTENDED IT TO BE A CUTE DRaBBLE WITH LOtS OF SNOW AND iCE AND CUDDLES oKAY it just got reallyyyy out of hand xD xD xD

So. It's not a drabble. Nor is it full of snow or ice, not really, but there are cuddles galore! :3 Oh, this is set in the space of time between the Forbidden Friendship sequence and the Romantic Flight sequence. I could have just said it was in the timeline of the See You Tomorrow sequence and saved myself a ton of time xDD also that last line of this one-shot sounds vaguely sexual, huh? This isn't meant to be a Toothcup xD if you ship them, feel free to squint with this fic, but I'm not really a Toothcup writer. Know people who are, though, if anyone likes that ship.


Vikings were an odd bunch.

Well, this wasn't exactly the word Toothless would use to describe them; perhaps something more along the lines of barbaric or murderous or savage, but for the sake of the tiny toothpick human who kept intruding in his cove, he'd amended his statement; this boy didn't seem violent, certainly not at all like the Vikings in the village – Toothless snorted quietly at the mere thought of their ignorance.

But this particular Viking…he seemed almost…nice.

Of course, it was too soon to say. Much too soon, and you could never be too careful and Night Furies prized their freedom and solitude above all else and the instant the boy worked out the mechanics of the prosthetic tail, he'd be out of here like a Gronckle at a pile of rocks…but for now, he had to learn to live with the kid. He didn't have to like him, certainly not; and certainly, he didn't feel a kind of leaping sensation in his stomach whenever he spotted the thin figure entering the cove, and certainly, he didn't recognize this feeling as joy. Any self-respecting dragon knew better than to feel anything but hatred toward the human filth.

Speaking of which, here the human came now, and the Night Fury brightened a bit at the thought of food and flight and company—well, no, not company, certainly not company. Humans didn't make good company; the only good human was a dead human. He couldn't start liking this scrawny boy; parting with him on amiable terms was an act that would allow him a free conscience, but anything beyond that and he might as well just go and banish himself from dragon society to save the other creatures the trouble.

"H-hey, Toothless." Something appeared wrong with the human; he walked with bent spine, hunched shoulders, hugging himself, and when he spoke, he stuttered in a way he had not for a long time. Upon closer inspection, the Night Fury realized the boy was shivering, the thin frame actually shaking. Why he was quivering so? Previously, Toothless had believed that only the really old humans moved about like this, with quaking arms and trembling legs, but this boy was a mere hatchling and it appeared his muscles already ailed him. It couldn't be weakened muscles, he was far too little for that. Perhaps…was he afraid? Toothless had definitely seen people shake with terror before, usually whenever he faced them. But this boy had no reason to be afraid of him. They had spared each other's lives. This had gone beyond your ordinary dragon-Viking relationship, and the former was fairly certain that the human could see that.

So what was wrong with him?

The dragon rose from his spot in the damp grass, nosing anxiously at the boy, trying to receive an answer.

And, as he always did, the human understood, and stroked his head. "It's nothing, Toothless, no big deal – just a bit colder today, is all. Winter's d-definitely coming." The boy offered him a small smile, settling himself down upon the grass.

Cold?

Toothless gazed at the human beside him in confusion; it wasn't cold, not at all! Actually a rather pleasant temperature, all things considered; these past few days had been much too warm, as of late, and with nothing to do but bake in the sun, the dragon had felt the heat intensely. Now, the sun was hidden behind graying clouds, and every now and then a snowflake would come dancing down from the chilled sky and land upon the ground, but the weather seemed a bit too warm to bring on a full snowfall.

Toothless frowned at Hiccup in confusion; the human wasn't weak, no matter how many times the dragon had heard him refer to himself as such – and surely the boy wouldn't get fussed over a bit of a bite in the wind, would he?

"Oh," the boy comprehended him again, "Toothless, of course you can't feel it. You have scales. I…don't." He gestured to himself.

The dragon brushed the fur vest with his nose. You have a fur coat.

"It doesn't do much," admitted the small, pale boy. "This is all it takes to keep a normal Viking warm." The small smile on his face disappeared suddenly, morphing into a mournful expression. "I just get cold…a lot easier than they do."

The dragon narrowed his green eyes almost to slits; he knew very well how his human felt about those hairy buffoons in the village – the loneliness and longing rolled off him in waves so thick the Night Fury could taste the negative mixture in the cold air.

"It's okay," the boy caught sight of his expression, offering up a smile to take the place of the one that had just disappeared. "I gave up on being a proper Viking long ago. I've got you now."

What?

This human – this desperate, defeated, depressed human who had spoken with him about the village time and again (why don't they accept me, I don't understand it, Toothless why am I different) – this human who would do anything for the acceptance or approval or admiration of another person had…him? No, this wasn't the ending he'd planned for their story! Not at all! Amiable terms, what didn't this boy understand about amiable terms? Amiable did not mean affectionate.

Affection was what the human wanted from his idiot father or his bullying brute of a cousin; but Toothless? No. Toothless had already planned out everything; had made his peace with the thought that he might never fully understand the human before him, but wouldn't hate him, no, would never hate him, and if they ever met on the field of combat, well, who could blame a Night Fury for turning away in the hopes of more exciting prey?

And yet, strangely, the words did not fill the dragon with anger. He wanted to be angry. He would have liked to have risen to his four feet right there, raging and storming and letting the human know, in no uncertain terms, that sentimentality and stupidity often went hand-in-hand, and if there was one thing Night Furies could not condone, it was the mixture of the two.

But…

But he held the fire he did not wish to spew, the storm he did not wish to create, the rage he did not truly feel. Because the look in the human's eyes was something more, something bigger than his pride and contempt and hatred, something bigger than the village's ignorance.

And the dragon could not deny this human the affection he craved.

So, tenderly, the Night Fury locked his injured tail around the boy's waist, pulling him closer until the boy's thin, bony back pressed against the firm black belly, and allowed them to remain this way for a minute or so. There was a moment of silence, and then the Viking hatchling released a small breath, and maybe it was of relief, because with the dragon holding him he could no longer feel the cold, or maybe it was because the Night Fury had stepped in and lifted the loneliness off his small shoulders, the burden he bore in silence.

They didn't fly. Neither expressed an interest in flight. Neither expressed an interest in swimming or fishing or speaking; neither expressed an interest in moving at all. They just lay there, silent and still, and when the human sighed next time, the dragon did, too – a small, relieved exhale.

Dragons could not feel cold as acutely as humans.

But on that day, in the space of hours or just a single moment – Toothless could never be sure which – the boy lay with him, and together they warmed something deeper than skin.