Meatlug was sleeping. Fishlegs envied her.

He watched the mellow rise and fall of his dragon's body for a few more moments, then sighed and rolled over in bed. Had he managed even a wink of sleep during the night? He doubted it. Scrubbing at his face, he turned over again so that he was lying on his back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling of his hut on Dragon's Edge. He could make out the very top of the ceiling now, no longer obscured in the shadows of night. Daylight was creeping in.

Giving up on sleep, Fishlegs sat up. From the cracks in his doorway, pale light filtered through, spilling across the hardwood floor in slender lines that snaked towards the foot of his bed. It was early. Too early.

Fishlegs glanced at Meatlug again. She was still sleeping peacefully, like he should have been. Like he wished he could. One of Meatlug's ears twitched. Footsteps thunked from the other side of the door.

Fishlegs' heart leapt into his throat and he scrambled out of bed, nearly falling over as the twisted tangle of blankets latched onto him. He clawed them off of himself just as someone knocked against the side of his hut.

"What happened?" Fishlegs hurried across the room and wrenched his door open with so much vigor that it banged against the wall. He scanned Throk's neutral features as he stood politely in the doorway. "Is Hiccup back?" Fishlegs asked, craning his head out and scanning the deserted walkway to either side of them. He swallowed. "Is it an emergency? Are we under attack?"

Throk shook his head, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "No," he said. "It is neither of those things."

"Oh." Fishlegs leaned back from the doorway, letting his posture deflate to its usual rounded slouch. Throk had urged him to get some well-needed rest, had said that he would wake him up only in case of an emergency, or if they received word about Hiccup. Fishlegs frowned. "Uh, what– what's going on, then?"

Throk gestured in the direction of the Clubhouse. "You have a visitor," he said, "from Berk."

"Oh," Fishlegs said again. "Right. Thanks." He exchanged parting nods with Throk, then edged his way around him and onto the rope bridge to the Clubhouse. It jostled as he hurried along, creaking and swaying in the chilly morning air.

Fishlegs brushed his hands down his tunic, frowning at the wrinkles. Had Stoick come for updates on Hiccup's whereabouts? And if so, what would he tell him? That his son was still missing? That the last people to spot him had been the Dragon Hunters? That even they seemed not to know where Hiccup had disappeared to? That the days were waxing long, and the riders were frazzled, and Fishlegs had gone too long without sleep?

He reached the Clubhouse before he was ready. He stood beside the doorway, hesitating for a moment, dread gnawing at his insides. Then he sighed silently, straightened his posture, and stepped inside.

Gobber was standing by the fireplace in the center of the room, watching the flames.

Fishlegs blinked. "Gobber?"

Gobber turned, a small smile softening his features as he laid eyes on Fishlegs. "Hello, laddie."

"What are you doing here?" Fishlegs asked, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides.

"Ah, Stoick sent me," Gobber said. "To see if there were any updates on Hiccup." His light eyes swept Fishlegs' form in quick calculation. "But I can see I'll have no good news to report. You look terrible." He gestured to the nearest seat.

"I know." Fishlegs slumped into the offered chair and watched as Gobber settled into the seat beside him. "I haven't been sleeping well. We've gotten nowhere searching for Hiccup–in fact, we've been set back."

"Set back?" Gobber asked, folding his arms. "How did you manage that?"

"Krogan," Fishlegs said darkly. He told Gobber about Krogan's ransom and the events that followed, as they had been relayed to him via Terror mail from Astrid. "We lost so much time because of him." Fishlegs held his head in his hands, elbows propped on the rough wood of the table around the fire. Hiccup had sat in this chair, days ago. "It's been so long," he said. "He's never been gone this long."

Gobber sighed, leaning back in his chair with a prolonged wooden creak that grated against the early morning calm. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time. Astrid, Snotlout, and the twins are all out looking, and they won't stop until they find him. Sooner or later," Gobber said, reaching over and patting Fishlegs' shoulder, "he'll turn up."

Fishlegs let his hands drop from his face. "Are you sure?"

There was a fraction of a second in which Gobber said nothing, and Fishlegs' stomach contracted, an imaginary Razorwhip tail crushing him.

Gobber smiled bracingly. "Of course," he said. He stood and turned away, gazing at the view from the Clubhouse doorway. The feeble pre-dawn light washed his face in gray. "And in the meantime, you'll need to get some sleep. You'll be of no use to anyone if you're so exhausted you can't even see straight."

"I know." Fishlegs stood, too, then passed Gobber and sat down at the edge of the walkway in front of the Clubhouse, his legs hanging over the side. "That's easier said than done, though." He scanned the furthest reaches of the Edge as Gobber sat down beside him, eyes raking over the crests of the green hills, the snow-topped mountain peaks, the jagged cap of the volcano. He studied the deserted skies, the empty shore, the flat horizon line where the dark waters met the icy gray sky. It was all too still, too barren, too vacant. He never liked to be alone on the Edge. It wasn't built for solitude.

"You know," Gobber said, "Hiccup was my apprentice from a wee little lad."

Fishlegs tore his gaze away from the horizon to contemplate Gobber.

"I got used to having him around," he said. "There at my side every time I was working." He gestured to the space beside him, at a young, invisible Hiccup. "Asking questions constantly. 'What's this? What does that do? Why do you make it that way?'" He chuckled, a fond smile crinkling the laugh lines around his eyes. "Ever the curious little Viking. I was always explaining things to him. Then I set up that little room for him, above the forge. You know the one."

Fishlegs nodded. "He was in there more than his own house."

"Aye, he was. He made that place his own private sanctuary, filled it with sketches and plans and parts and all manner of wild inventions. Most of the time, he was either there in that room, or at my side, studying, learning. But sometimes, he would be gone."

"Gone where?"

Gobber shrugged. "Thor only knows. He just liked to leave–to run off somewhere, investigate some new place, search for something unknown, unfamiliar."

Fishlegs' lips twitched. "He's still like that."

"I know it." Gobber nodded, grinning. "And Stoick–" He laughed. "Stoick used to worry about him, running off, getting into trouble. But I would always tell him, 'You can't stop him, Stoick. You can only prepare him.' Because, sure enough, Hiccup would always vanish again."

"What about you?" Fishlegs asked. "You weren't worried?"

"Ah, Hiccup was skinny and weak–fragile as a fishbone. And not the most coordinated Viking, either. Always stumbling into things, falling over. Very accident-prone. But," Gobber said, holding his hook up for emphasis, "he was sharp. As clever as they come. I figured he had a bit more in him than we gave him credit for."

Fishlegs let out a huff of laughter. "I bet you didn't realize how right you were."

Gobber smiled. "Aye," he said. "We underestimated all of you. When you lot came flying to the dragon's nest, on dragons–" He chortled, shaking his head. "What a thing to witness." The smile faded from Gobber's features. He cleared his throat. "But then came Hiccup's battle with the Red Death, and everything afterwards."

Fishlegs nodded, remembering standing over Hiccup's bed with the other riders in hushed silence. The eerie stillness of Hiccup's prone form. Toothless, pacing the floor, claws clicking against the wood. The stoop in Stoick's shoulders. The stinging smell of Gothi's concoctions. The dip in the blankets where Hiccup's leg used to be.

Gobber sighed, long and low. "When Hiccup came back around, it was to a new Berk. He had new responsibilities, new things to do with his time. I went from having him at my side most hours of the day, every day, to seeing him in passing, maybe once every few days."

Fishlegs frowned; he had never considered how Hiccup's change in lifestyle had impacted Gobber. "You must have missed him."

Gobber tipped his head in acknowledgement. "It took some adjusting." He glanced sidelong at Fishlegs. "I did keep his room the same," he said. "Just as it was. Even now, it's untouched except when he visits. There are still sketches of Toothless in there. Rudimentary blueprints of the tail fin, tacked up on the wall beside early inventions of dragon-fighting weapons." Gobber smiled slightly. "But that's how it is with Hiccup–how it's always been. You get used to his presence," he said, "and you get as comfortable as you can with his absence."

Fishlegs rubbed his forehead. "Are you saying," he asked, studying Gobber's casual slouch, "that you're comfortable right now? With Hiccup gone?"

Gobber gave him a forced smile, his lips pressed into a thin line. "As comfortable as you can," he repeated. Then he stood with a grunt, and offered his hand to Fishlegs. "You should get some rest, then," he said, as Fishlegs took his hand and rose to his feet. "And try not to worry too much. Hiccup always comes back."

"Always?"

Gobber patted Fishlegs' shoulder. "So far."

Hiccup was aware of movement. A gentle rise and fall. Steady, present, reassuring.

He moved his fingertips, and they trailed along familiar territory. Toothless' scales. He was lying on top of Toothless, rising and falling in time to his dragon's breaths.

Hiccup opened his eyes. His upper half was slumped over Toothless' head. They were lying on a dusty wooden floor, glazed over with warm sunlight that poured in from the open doorway. A box of vials sat in front of him, one slot empty. The poison.

He laid still for another moment, processing the situation as gravity seemed to abandon him. He was floating, feather-light, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as if he and Toothless were spiraling through the skies. Had the poison actually worked?

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Hiccup lifted his head a fraction of an inch. "Toothless?" His voice was hoarse from lack of use, but in the quiet of the healer's hut it may as well have been the roar of a Thunderdrum.

Toothless scrambled to his feet so fast that Hiccup nearly dropped face-first onto the floor, but he caught himself with his arms outstretched. That was a good sign. He grinned at Toothless, who warbled happily and wriggled with uncontainable excitement. He bounded away and crashed around the hut, knocking into tables, chairs, and shelves with ecstatic energy.

Hiccup laughed. "It's good to see you, too, bud," he said. He sat up, leaning back against the wall and watching his dragon destroy the healer's remaining possessions as he took a mental tally of his wellbeing. The fever that had clung to him for the past few days had finally receded, along with the rest of the poison's symptoms. His heartbeat was blessedly normal, his mind clearer than it had been in days. He stretched his fingers out in front of him. The discoloration of the skin around the nail beds had faded, close to disappearing entirely.

Toothless knocked over a shelf with a particularly loud crash, then came to stand in front of Hiccup again. He padded in place, unable to keep still.

"I feel the same way," Hiccup said, relishing the euphoria and the weightlessness that accompanied it. "Thank the gods it actually worked." Still laughing breathlessly, Hiccup moved onto his hands and knees and began to push himself up. He winced as pain lanced through his side.

Toothless abandoned his happy dancing immediately, shoving his head into his rider's space with a concerned warble.

"It's okay, Toothless." Hiccup patted his dragon's head, smiling reassuringly. "I'm just stiff from being in that position for so long." He braced himself for the wave of pain as he stood. When he was on his feet and steady, it faded to a dull, inconspicuous ache. He took a step forward, away from the wall, testing his balance. "See?" he said, his grin widening further. "All good!"

Toothless bounded to the door of the healer's hut and fired a triumphant plasma blast into the sky, then came back to Hiccup's side, pressing against his rider affectionately.

Hiccup sighed in relief, running his hands over Toothless' scales. "Thank you for staying with me, bud," he said, voice steeped in gratitude. He lifted Toothless' head until they were eye to eye. "You're amazing."

Toothless rumbled a response, and the sound was immediately followed by another low growl, from his stomach.

"And also hungry, apparently." Hiccup chuckled and headed for the door, Toothless at his side. "C'mon, bud. You deserve a feast."

Together, they trailed to the doorway, Hiccup's hand resting on his dragon's scales. The swish of Toothless' tail against the floorboards mingled with Hiccup's footsteps, the only sounds on the island beside the rustle of the wind and the rushing of the distant sea. The two of them passed through the center of the village without sparing a glance at the well, heading for the shore. The sun glowed warm and welcoming overhead.

Hiccup closed his eyes, trusting Toothless to lead him, taking time to appreciate the moment. Freed from the poison coursing through his veins and the heavy weight of almost certain death, Hiccup felt lighter. The world felt lighter. Calmer. Safer. Toothless' scales were warm beneath his fingertips, and the island breeze was playing with his hair now. With his eyes closed, he could imagine it was Astrid, raking her fingers through his hair with a ridiculously pleased expression.

It wouldn't be long until he could see her again, until he could see all of them. He and Toothless would take the afternoon to rest up and restore their strength, and then they would get to work on a way out.

"We're close, Toothless," he murmured. "We're so, so close."

"Hey, I said quit it!" Snotlout reached up to swat at the Terrible Terror that had started to chew on the horns of his helmet again.

The Terror squawked playfully and landed on his shoulder. It bit his ear.

"Gah! Would you–!" Snotlout waved the Terror off his shoulder and sighed as it resumed its position on his helmet. "Why did I have to get the one that was teething?" The little dragon's teeth scraped against the horns of his helmet. Saliva dripped onto his shoulder.

"Ah, gods." Snotlout rolled his eyes. "I sure hope I'm the one to find Hiccup," he said, "otherwise I won't be sending any Terror mail and you'll have been a complete waste of my time." He pointed up at the Terror, who ignored him.

Hookfang roared quietly and dipped beneath the cloud bank.

"What is it, Hooky?" Snotlout asked. They emerged through mist into blue skies, the ocean churning below them. A land mass rose up out of the waters ahead, and Snotlout patted Hookfang's head appreciatively. "Wow! A new island! You better take notes," he told the Terror as they flew toward land. "That's how to be a useful dragon."

Hookfang rumbled a smug acknowledgement, dipping his wings to circle above the island.

"You think Hiccup found this place?" Snotlout leaned forward in the saddle, craning his neck to see the topography below Hookfang's vast wingspan. The northern side of the island was jagged with mountain peaks, sharper and more inhospitable than the wider summits on Dragon's Edge. The rest of the island was mostly composed of forest, the trees dipping into every valley, hugging the crests of each hill.

Hookfang angled his wings and they descended lower over the ground, just above the forest canopy.

"Look." Snotlout pointed to a section of ashen land, cleared of all live growth. It was dotted with skeleton trees, blackened by ash, twisted and misshapen by fire. "We didn't see any smoke, though." Snotlout swallowed convulsively, his mouth dry. "Maybe the fire was older. Hiccup didn't necessarily get caught in it."

But Hookfang adjusted his course anyway. They streaked beneath the burned trees, Hookfang gliding swiftly between branches while Snotlout scanned the surrounding landscape. No Hiccup. No Toothless. No signs of life.

"Maybe they never even came here," Snotlout said as they swooped up the side of a hill. "Maybe they– whoa."

They landed on the crest of the hill. Snotlout stared open-mouthed at the ruins of the village before them, its buildings warped and blackened by fire, too. Goosebumps crawled up his forearms. "This looks bad," he whispered. "Really bad."

Hookfang rumbled a low agreement. Even the Terrible Terror had stopped gnawing Snotlout's helmet. It gave a nervous squeak and fluttered down into Snotlout's lap.

"Yeah, I don't blame you." Snotlout wrapped his hands around the Terror automatically, letting it bury itself in the folds of his clothes. "Normally, I'd say we should get outta here. But–" he sighed heavily–"you know if Hiccup landed here, he would definitely go investigate this. So I guess that's what we have to do."

Hookfang huffed a breath of warm air that stirred the mixture of ash and dirt on the ground, then started forward. He crept through the ruins with caution, edging away from the buildings and keeping to the path.

"I don't know," Snotlout whispered. "This place looks pretty deserted." He tore his gaze from a cracked workbench that had finally fallen to pieces atop the rest of the surrounding debris. Leaning forward on Hookfang, he squinted down the path ahead. The row of houses ended at a towering wall, its massive gate hanging open at an angle.

"Set me down up there," Snotlout said. Hookfang scurried to the gate, eager to leave the eerie rubble behind them. Snotlout slid the Terror out of his arms and sat it between Hookfang's horns as he dropped out of the saddle. "Stay here."

Snotlout advanced on the gate, glancing briefly at the remainder of the village beyond. Right now, he was interested in the padlock. Someone had opened this gate. And he had a feeling he knew who it was. He hovered his hand over the ashen wood, making his way to the lock. He stopped at the smoldered impact where the lock should have been. He could almost hear the high-pitched whistle as Toothless prepared a shot. The blinding flash of purple-white light. Good job, bud, Hiccup had probably said.

For the first time in what felt like quite a while, a genuine smile spread across Snotlout's face. "Gotcha." He turned and waved Hookfang forward as he strode through the gate and into the more intact part of the village. It was empty here, too, but Snotlout hastened ahead, his heart thrumming, a powerful certainty compelling him.

He stopped in the middle of the village square and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hiccup?" he yelled. Two ravens screeched their protest, the pines at the cusp of the forest twitching as they flew away, unseen.

Snotlout waited, listening, holding a hand above his eyes to shade the fiery afternoon light. He glanced around at what looked like the village's central square, a sturdy well in the center, houses on each corner. The house on his left had collapsed in on itself, heavy beams sticking out of the doorway. The house on his right stood in one piece, although its edges were smudged with smoke.

"Hiccup?" he called again. He listened for a moment longer, then tramped into the house on the right.

Snotlout stopped inside the doorway, frowning. His shadow draped across wreckage. Shelves, tables, and chairs had been knocked over, as if someone had ransacked the place. What had happened here?

He shifted, and the sunlight jumped, catching on something on the floor nearby. He stepped over the remnants of a wooden stool and crouched beside it. Broken glass. Something had fallen off of one of the shelves, breaking into menacing shards. Snotlout leaned closer. Liquid darkened the wood floor around the glass. This had happened recently.

"He can't be far." Snotlout rushed backwards, intending to run out the door, but he stumbled over the wooden legs of the stool and fell.

Hookfang stuck his head in the door, eyeing Snotlout's position on the floor. He chortled, warm air blowing into Snotlout's face and rifling his hair.

"Shut up, Hookfang." Snotlout planted his hands on the floor to either side of him, preparing to get back to his feet, but he stopped. His left hand came into contact with something smooth. Not wood, but parchment.

He pulled the parchment out of the collection of items that littered the floor beside an overturned desk. His stomach jolted and he grinned, running his hand over the familiar markings. They were blueprints for Toothless' tail fin, sketched out in Hiccup's steady hand, notes scrawled into the corners of the page.

Snotlout met eyes with his dragon, letting out a huff of breathless laughter. "We're close, Hookfang." His fingers tightened on the edge of Hiccup's design. "We're so, so close."