Hello, everyone!

First off, I want to thank everyone for all of their support, especially after the end of Echoed Songs! I'm sure you'll all be happy to hear: this is the first oneshot that will take place after ES!

Again: this takes place AFTER Echoed Songs. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED ECHOED SONGS.

Hopefully that's a big enough notice! Thank you again to everyone, and I hope you all have a wonderful day!

Investigations

"Hey, Hiccup, a question on dragon culture: do dragons actually have hoards?"

"No," Hiccup said, hiding his hoard of papers behind him. I snorted with a sly grin, and he ducked his head with embarrassment. The sunlight pouring in through the holes in the smoke-cave seemed to illuminate his stack of papers, beaming a beacon of irony upon them.

'Fishlegs' was buried in his own papers, however, and hardly noticed our exchange. He swept his pencil back and forth with surprising speed and ease—the fastest I had ever seen a human draw words before. Even Hiccup couldn't keep up that sort of pace, or at least not without complaining for ages afterwards about how his paw was cramping.

"Fascinating," 'Fishlegs' muttered, his nose practically pressed to the papers, hunched over them like they were hatchlings to be protected from the rain. He grabbed a 'book' and began flipping through it so quickly, I wondered if the papers would break. "You know, this source material I got that from wasn't exactly reliable. Hardly any reputable sources, citing information out of context, no methodology described...it was basically opinions dressed up as facts. It's convincing enough until you've been in the field and done some basic testing, and then you know it's a bunch of pointless jargon and guesstimations."

"Is nothing you say concise?" I drawled. Shooting a look at a snoozing Meatlug nestled against her human's side, I added, "I see Meatlug has gotten to you."

She cracked an eye open and grinned when I stiffened. Normally, she would have been formal and polite…but her sleepiness must have gotten the better of her. When she spoke, it was quite passive-aggressive. "He is a scholar, my King."

"I-I see," I stammered.

It was Hiccup's turn to send me a meaningful smirk. "Serves you right," he said with an amused overtone.

"I suppose," I huffed, looking away, outside of the smoke-cave. It was mid-day, and all of Berk was bustling. I vaguely wondered how the King was holding up with the hatchling; he'd offered to relieve us of our guardianship for the day, an opportunity I had lunged for.

Meatlug chuckled and let her eyes slide closed. 'Fishlegs' remained completely unaware.

Hiccup turned back to his own work at wing. He was "warming up", whatever that meant—I mean, honestly, how does one warm up papers?—by doing his daily drawing of a Shadow-Blender. I peered over his shoulder, waiting to see what he came up with. With every passing day, more confidence was put into each sweep of his paw, and his efforts showed. The dragons he put onto paper seemed alive, like they could simply leap into the smoke-cave and flit about if they so pleased. His Shadow-Blenders were the best of all.

Especially…especially when he drew us together. Those ones were my favorite.

'Fishlegs' suddenly popped his head up from the 'book' and said, "What?"

"What?" Hiccup echoed, tilting his head aside.

"Did you say something?" 'Fishlegs' asked somewhat sheepishly. "I just realized I heard something. Sorry if I ignored you."

"Oh! No, it's fine," Hiccup said, pawing dismissively at the air. He leaned away from his hoard of papers and then quickly tried to cover it up again. "Toothless was just, uh, being his usual art critic self."

"Really?" 'Fishlegs' turned to me, eyes bright. "Do you have critiques? Constructive criticism? Suggestions? Opinions?"

A tingle of fear went down my spine.

Not again.

"Oh! That reminds me of some questions I wrote down! Hold on, let me find them…" The human reached into his furs and somehow managed to pull out a piece of paper.

It was small. Alright, I could work with small…wait, it could get bigger? How was it getting bigger?

My eyes widened and my ears and wings dropped as 'Fishlegs' unfolded and unfolded and unfolded his paper until it was astonishing that he had even been able to get it so small in the first place.

"Hiccup, do you want to go on patrol?" I said. "Are you seeing this? Think hard."

He rolled his eyes. "It's important work, Toothless! And it can't be that bad." His eyes flicked to the unfolded paper, and his amused smile fell a bit.

"See! Even you don't want to!" I accused him.

"Question one!" 'Fishlegs' announced. "Do dragons have dialects?"

I thought of the pompous Color-Shifter's accent and the rough, haughty manner the Deep-Swimmer cackled just about everything she said. "Yes," I said, nodding. Then I turned to Hiccup. "Alright, I answered one, let's go!"

He bopped me on the nose with a playful hiss. 'Fishlegs', his eyes ever-watchful and hungry for answers, grabbed some more paper and took a quick note. I didn't like that in the slightest; I hated the feeling of being watched, and I made sure to shoot him a suspicious look for it.

"Question two!" 'Fishlegs' said, undisturbed by the evil eye I was giving him.

"Of how much?" Hiccup interrupted, eyeing the paper with a small amount of trepidation. "Because we do have some outlines we were planning to get done…"

The overly-inquisitive human glanced at the bottom of his paper and squinted. "Don't worry, it's not too much!" He set it down and announced proudly, "Seventy-two!"

I threw my head back and groaned. Hiccup simply stared.

"Seventy-two?" he repeated in an incredulous voice. "What, were you gearing up to a hundred before you started asking?"

'Fishlegs' deflated a bit. "Let's do half then?"

"A quarter!" I said, shaking my head.

"Two-thirds?" 'Fishlegs' tried, holding up two claws.

"A quarter." I narrowed my eyes.

"Two-thirds it is!" 'Fishlegs' cheered, apparently taking me not shaking my head as affirmation.

"What?!" I whipped around to my brother, who seemed caught between horror and hilarity. "Hic-cup!"

"How about…maybe…not?" he said. "A quarter sounds nice and reasonable. How about fifteen?"

"That's less than a quarter!" 'Fishlegs' squawked.

"Great Dragon of the Sun, he's actually doing the math," I moaned in dismay.

"Fine—eighteen?" Hiccup waved his paws and plastered on an encouraging smile. "That seems like a good amount, right?"

'Fishlegs' pouted. "Alright," he huffed. "But you owe me more after we're done outlining. So anyways, question…"

"Fifteen?" I said.

"Three!" I brightened, and he corrected himself, "Wait, two!"

Ugh, damn it.

"Don't look too excited, Toothless," Hiccup snickered. He leaned over to press his shoulder against mine.

"Do dragons tend more towards individualism or commensalism?" 'Fishlegs' pressed on, undeterred.

"Um…both?" Hiccup said after taking a moment to think. "I guess it depends. Most dragons live in nests and look out for each other, but there's definitely loners out there."

"So would you define dragons as more social with the asocial ones being the odd ones out?" 'Fishlegs' asked. He leaned forward where he sat, his eyes boring into Hiccup.

"Four," I said, just in case anyone forgot.

Hiccup pressed his lips together in thought. "Well…I don't think they would be considered the 'odd ones out'. If a dragon showed up alone, they would be asked what nest they come from and where, though. So it would be a little strange, I guess."

My back went just a little bit more rigid. I stretched my wings out to hide it.

"Are the nests mostly composed of related individuals in families, or are they more diverse?"

"Five," I said.

"Much more diverse," Hiccup said. He gestured something "big" with his paws. "Bigger nests have lots of different types of dragons in them and, because of that, lots of different groups."

"What about dragons that don't fit into the groups?" 'Fishlegs' said. "Is there some social isolation involved?"

A pang shot through me—one I quickly shoved to the deepest shadows of my thoughts, forbidden from even the slightest acknowledgement. "Six," I ground out.

Hiccup grimaced, relating to the statement himself, and shrugged. "Well…I know I was an odd one out. But after awhile, it stopped being a problem. But I was…" He sighed, looking down, his shoulders drooping. "I was kind-of the favorite," he mumbled, his voice taking a sharp edge to it.

I pressed up against him while staring off to the side, trying to bat it all away. I hated being reminded of all of this. The Queen. What she did to us. And before…

I abolished the thought before it even met its end.

'Fishlegs' took significantly longer to write everything down, trying to wait the awkwardness out. "R-right," he said. "Ahem. So, going back a step, how big is the family unit? I know you've told me about mated pairs, but is it just them and their babies, or…?"

The irritating thing about trying not to think about something was that it involved thinking about it. "…seven," I murmured. I shook my head as if I could chase the memories away, sending them scattering like a pestering insect. It didn't work.

Hiccup shot me a concerned look. In an uncertain, almost questioning tone, he said, "Usually, uh…the pair and their hatchlings. I-I mean, relatives might be around, especially in bigger nests, but the stronger relationships are between the mated pairs, the parents and their hatchlings, and the siblings." He frowned, still watching me worriedly. "Not that friendships don't form or can't be as strong."

"I was just going to ask that," 'Fishlegs' chirped happily, scribbling away. "Next question, do hatchlings usually break away from their group? Do they go off on their own, I mean?"

I didn't count out loud that time.

Hiccup didn't even respond to the human, watching me with a concerned, knowing look—one that I avidly avoided. "I think we should move on to a different subject," he eventually said. He reached a paw out and brushed it against my shoulder, and I couldn't help but droop guiltily.

Damn it, Toothless, get ahold of yourself! I growled at myself. So the human has questions, and they happen to remind you of…ugh, never mind!

"O-oh," 'Fishlegs' said. "Sorry." To me, he said sympathetically, "I guess that being the only Night Fury, you must miss the family you came from?"

A cold spike rushed through me. Hiccup stiffened. I turned to face the human and pinned my ears.

"Fifteen," I snarled. He reared back and Meatlug jolted awake. I turned on my paws and stalked out of the smoke-cave.

"Toothless!" Hiccup yelped. He ran to catch up, walking side-by-side with me, keeping our shoulders pressed together. "Toothless…I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" I snapped, leering at the ground in front of my feet and letting my claws sink deep into the soft earth. "It's his fault! Asking such rude and insensitive questions! Who does he think he is? Am I nothing but a curious thing to study? Is it fun to poke and pry even though it's blatantly rude? Does his 'book' make him think he can ask anything?"

Hiccup frowned and let me rant, and when the anger boiled over and silenced me, he let out a soothing purr. "It is fine, Toothless. It is fine…"

I slowed to a stop, my head hanging close enough to the ground that I could smell the most recent rainfall. I let my wings and tail droop. We were in the middle of Berk and attracting quite the crowd.

"…I'm sorry," I eventually managed, feeling all the worse for my immature outburst with every eye that focused on us.

"Let's fly," Hiccup suggested. He hopped onto my back and said, "I'll even let you win this time...?"

I was in no mood for games, but I was more than willing to leave the smoke-cave and the human inside it far below us. I opened my wings and took off, keeping at an angle from the sun to keep from blinding Hiccup. Up and up I took us, pressing higher and higher as if I could simply outrun the sudden torrent of guilt and memories sweeping over me.

Stop thinking about it. Don't let it get to you, I scolded myself. As per the usual, you're making an inferno out of an ember. Excellent work, Toothless. A real King you are.

Hiccup clutched tight to me, more of a hug than for his own safety, and said nothing. It was only when I finally leveled out, so far up that the ocean stretched high above, that he finally spoke. "I should have realized where Fishelgs was going. I know…I know your family is a really sensitive subject for you. I'm sorry, Toothless."

"Don't be," I repeated myself. I drooped. "I'm sorry. I over-reacted."

"Well…yes," Hiccup said, unable to keep the surprised overtone from his voice. "But I get it more than anything. You need to apologize, but I get it."

We glided along the air currents. They were rough today, like choppy ocean waves, small distractions that helped draw me from simply stewing in anger—anger at myself, as it had always been, though I had been more than willing to project it onto 'Fishlegs'. Despite his invasive questions, the human had not deserved it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my eyes barely focused on the horizon. "I…I wasn't expecting it to come up so fast. We were relaxing and joking, and then suddenly he was asking questions that had everything to do with…with…" I swallowed, and forced myself to admit, "…with my family."

"Talk good, remember?" Hiccup encouraged in an understanding overtone. He lied down against me, wrapping his paws around me and pressing his cheek against my forehead. He thrummed with comforting purr.

For some time, I tried to collect my thoughts, snatching back the anger and defensiveness. I had hardly ever spoken of my family for this precise reason; it was too hurtful, too close to heart, too much a fresh wound despite all the years that had passed. Without failure, my ever-graceful response was to lash out, to force the conversation away. Shame filled me at the sheer hypocrisy and weakness. For months now, I had encouraged Hiccup to open up, to share his pain so that he may heal. All the while, I was hoarding away my own troubles as if they never existed.

"He would like you," I eventually said, staring south, south, south.

Hiccup tried to hide it, but he was tense, just aware as myself of how little I spoke of my meager, original nest. "Your older brother?" he ventured.

"Yes," I sighed, closing my eyes to envision him. Scars—so many of them, and most of them from his own reckless stupidity. The bold, overconfident way he flew and talked and hunted and fought. The warmth he offered on cold nights. The smell of ripe earth after the rain. A deep, warm voice. "If you think I'm stubborn, then you wouldn't have the slightest clue how to handle him. He's…he was much worse than me."

"Not sure if that's possible," Hiccup teased, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Well, look at you," I managed to laugh. "He loved to do dangerous tricks. That alone would make you two get along."

Hiccup must have sensed that I wasn't done yet; he purred soothingly and waited.

"Did I ever tell you…I was a runt?" I admitted.

"N-no," Hiccup gasped. He thought, and then groaned, "Wait, did that make me an even runtier runt?"

"Yes. It was hilarious," I chuckled. Then, sobering, I went on, "He was always worried about me. Always staying close just in case I got myself in trouble. Always scolding me."

"I wonder what that feels like," Hiccup pretended to grumble. "Sounds exactly like a certain Shadow-Blender I know."

It wasn't exactly praise, but it still felt like it, to be compared to the dragon I had spent my upbringing looking up to. I let us sway back and forth a bit, and a small smile formed on my maw.

"I suppose I take after him in some ways." I peered out towards where the ocean melted into the sky, as if I'd see that familiar figure curl out of the horizon like a mirage. "I learned so much from him…I wonder what he'd say to me now, were we to meet again. If we could ever meet again."

"Well…" Hiccup said. "Why not?"

My limbs locked up. A sharp gust nearly knocked us over, and I had to flap my wings in a blur to stay steady.

"I…I can't," I muttered, hating the weak way my voice teetered. "I…the last time we spoke was…"

My voice left me. Hiccup held closer to me, offering his warmth. I closed my eyes, feeling the claws snaked around my heart loosen some.

"…when Mother passed on," I spat the words out like the poison they were. "He…blamed me for it."

"I'm sure he was in shock, and took it out on you," Hiccup murmured, his voice low and soft and serious. "I don't know him, so I could be wrong…but from everything you've told me about him, now and before..." He tightened his hold on me.

"I really think he regrets it."

My breath caught, my throat suddenly thick and difficult to squeeze words through. The thought had never occurred to me—not even once—that I hadn't deserved the sobbing rage he had inflicted upon me on that day.

"It—it was—my fault," I said, fighting to keep my voice from shuddering—and doing a miserable job at it.

"Oh, Toothless," Hiccup sighed, and the sorrow in his overtone made me fight all the harder to keep my breathing even and solid. "Let me tell you something. I…I've always felt the same way about my Mom. Watching her get sicker and sicker, knowing it was because she got hurt protecting me…I took it really hard for a long, long time. I know how much it hurts." He held me closer. "But you were, what, a yearling? What could you have done?"

"Something…anything…" I said between thick gasps of air, my limbs trembling, my heart pounding. It was too hard to speak, and so I left out the long list of things I could have done that my brother had roared at me. Why hadn't I screamed louder for help? Why hadn't I distracted the humans when they felled her? Why hadn't I attacked the humans, as weak and small and frightened as I was? I was a Shadow-Blender, the most capable of dragons—why hadn't I known they would fear even me and flee?

"I felt the same way," Hiccup murmured. "It's normal to feel like this, Toothless…but it only hurts you to hold it in. Don't you remember telling me the same thing?" He sighed. "Although…it actually took Dad yelling at me for me to even think that it wasn't my fault, so I'm not exactly a shining example."

Bringing up his father, in turn, evoked the image of my own in my mind's eye. In my imagination, I tried to approach him, dragging my belly and wings submissively across the ground—and he narrowed his aged, golden eyes and turned his back to me in disgust.

It was enough.

"But at least you didn't leave!" I cried, the guilt crashing over me in an endless barrage. "At least you didn't run away and—and leave them behind—forever! Always wondering what—what happened to you, always mourning you and hating you for—for abandoning them!"

More wind rocked through us. I couldn't focus—couldn't fight it—and my wings were knocked against the wind, sending us into a plummet. Hiccup grasped tight to me, holding me close as the world spun and spun around us.

"It wasn't your fault!" he shouted into the wind, his voice shuddering with the pain he felt for me. The wind picked up his voice and carried it, making him sound almost like a ghost whispering in my ear. "They would forgive you! And you have to forgive yourself!"

I finally got my bearings and snapped my wings open. We were above the far end of Berk now, the mountains dangerously close.

I didn't trust myself to fly anymore. I let us whip over the steep inclines of the mountains and then landed in the first flat-ish clearing I spotted. The moment my feet were on the ground, so were Hiccup's—and he rushed to face me, grabbing my cheekbones in his paws and forcing me to look at him.

His eyes glistened with sorrow, and both of us pulled our link forth at the same time. Hiccup was shocked, of course—probably not even as much as I was shocked at how easily my past had snatched me up in its teeth. Memories shot between us, of the pain of the same loss, of the terrible and unending guilt, of my running away and his being forced to face it. I hadn't had anyone to talk to about it, Hiccup knew, while he had been surrounded by humans telling him exactly what he needed to hear.

So he was going to be that person for me, he asserted. He was going to scream some sense into me, just as I had done for him in the past.

A choked, humorless laugh escaped me. Hiccup pulled me into an embrace, one I desperately returned.

"No more questions," he murmured. "And that means from you, too." He pulled away and set me with a stern look. "No more asking yourself what went wrong. No more wondering what you could have done. No more guessing how they would think of you now." He gave a small smile. "What matters is that you are here. What matters is that you found a family here, too."

I found myself returning his smile, even if it was small and weak. "I did always want a younger brother," I muttered, to which Hiccup scoffed at, clearly thinking that he was the "older brother". I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against his. "Thank you, Hiccup. I…I feel..."

"Better" wasn't exactly the word for it. But "worse" certainly wasn't. The pain hadn't been whisked away, but now, just the slightest bit, I was a little more comfortable with it—more willing to shoot a disdainful snort its way instead of simply hiding away from it, pretending it wasn't there.

"I know," he said, and I was suddenly aware that he had been waiting to have this conversation for a long time. "It's hard, to be able to just talk about it, especially when it's been so long. But I'm here for you, Toothless. I'll always be here."

My legs lost their strength, and with my breath whooshing out of me, I sat down. Hiccup did as well, nestling up against me.

"But, Hiccup…" I said. I met his worried gaze. "Even after everything…I would do it all again. Because if it never happened, then I would have never met you."

He purred, both with gratitude and to comfort. "And I would have never found my younger brother."

I rolled my eyes. Younger. Me. It was ridiculous. A small laugh drew from me, one Hiccup easily returned.

We sat like that for some time. Eventually, though, it became clear that we had to return. I had apologies to make.

More than that, I had important matters to think about. Dragons that I had pretended hadn't existed for years. Dragons that I had stashed away into a hoard of my own, in some way.

With Hiccup at my side…maybe…could I possibly…?

It was still too near to consider. But I suppose...I suppose we would know with time.