Hiccup was in an irate mood that late morning. With furrowed eyebrows, disheveled hair, and a scowl apparent upon his face, he was the perfect definition of frustrated.

"Stupid . . . stupid . . ." he muttered to himself. "They were right . . . Oh, Thor, why couldn't I just kill it?"

But even as he continued to grumble in irritation, he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer to his question. He couldn't or he wouldn't?

He headed back to his house, feet dragging and head down. Either way, (if he couldn't or he wouldn't) he was still weak. To his father, to Astrid, to everyone. Even himself. He wasn't a Viking. He wasn't one of them.

And what was even worse? The dragon seemed to know that, too. The dragon didn't kill him. He didn't shoot him with the scorching flames that surely could've gathered in his throat. If it were Astrid in that situation, (although Hiccup admitted to himself that would never happen) the dragon would've shot. The dragon would've anticipated Astrid as a threat—but for Hiccup, he was just . . . a hiccup. A bother that no one really cares about.

He was about to follow his daily routine of trudging back to his house, moping for a while, convincing himself that he could do it and regaining his confidence, then getting dragged back to work by Gobber.

But there was an obstruction in his elaborate plan. A quite literal obstruction. As he pushed the door open and entered, he walked straight into his father's back.

"Dad!"

"Oh, Hiccup."

"I've been meaning to say—"

"I need to tell you something—"

"Oh, you first," both of them blurted.

Then, at the same time, they said, "I've decided to train you to kill dragons/I've realized that I can't kill dragons."

Wait, what?

Stoick cleared his throat. "Hiccup, I've, er, decided that you should join dragon training."

"Um, dad, slight problem—"

"Starts tomorrow at dawn."

"Oh, man, I really should've gone first—"

"You'll need this." Stoick dropped a huge axe into Hiccup's hands, which nearly made Hiccup topple over.

"Dad, listen. I don't want to kill dragons," Hiccup said nervously.

"Come on, son. Yes, you do."

"Rephrase! I can't kill dragons!"

"But you will kill dragons."

"No, I'm really, very, extra sure that I won't!"

"It's time, Hiccup."

"Can you not hear me?!"

"This is serious, son!" Stoick stood up to his full height—or at least, tried. His head hit the ceiling, but nevertheless, he was intimidating.

"When you carry this axe," Stoick continued, pulling the axe up when Hiccup almost dropped it, "you carry the rest of us with you. That means you have to be a Viking, Hiccup. You walk like us. You talk like us. You think like us. No more of . . . this."

Hiccup was about to retort, but his ears picked up a strange noise. Something between a roar and a shriek. Stoick looked up grimly.

"That'll be the devils. Blasted things . . ." Stoick trailed off. But Hiccup had come to another conclusion: it sounded like the cry when he shot the Night Fury down.

Was it possible that it was still there . . . ?

He had to check. Curiosity was eating at his soul. Maybe it had gotten stuck in the foliage and couldn't fly away. Maybe it was too injured. Maybe he still had a chance at redeeming himself as a Viking.

"—Hiccup? Are you listening to me?" Stoick rumbled.

"Wha—oh, yes. What did you just say?"

"Do we have a deal?"

"How about you just give me some time to consider, and I'll get back to you—"

"Do we have a deal, Hiccup?"

Hiccup sighed. He wanted to go and check on the dragon, and this was clearly a lost cause. He replied, "Deal," feet jumping, his hands twittering about nervously like jittered hummingbirds.

Now, perhaps someone who had never met Hiccup before would be suspicious of his abnormally frazzled demeanor, but everyone in Berk, even/especially his father knew that Hiccup was an odd sort of fellow.

He was different.

And in this case, it got Stoick off his back, thus allowing him to race through the forest, back to the small clearing where he found the dragon cornering . . . Who by Odin's beard was that?

It was our very own Tooth Fairy, here personally to recruit. But Hiccup surely didn't know that, and neither did the night fury.

"Whoa, whoa!" Hiccup didn't know what overcame him —perhaps in his mind he wasn't entirely a target to the dragon— but he raced in between the growling dragon and the . . . female, who, surprisingly, was glaring back with equal ferocity.

But both the dragon and the female nudged him out of the way.

"Oh, come on! When Pitch comes —when, not if— he's not just going to ignore a huge colony of flying, fire-breathing, dangerous dragons! But you have the chance to save them! You've been chosen! C'mon, don't you want the chance to prove all those nasty monstrous nightmares that you're better than them?"

The dragon snorted.

"Look, maybe—OH!"

As quickly as you might down a bottle of Yakult, the fairy switched from glaring up menacingly at the dragon's cat-like eyes to whizzing about excitedly around Hiccup.

"Oh, here he is! Our new guardian! Hello, Hiccup! My, I didn't expect your teeth to be so white! I mean, I know that the residents of Berk mainly live off of fish, maybe sometimes sheep, so it's really a pleasant surprise! It's really nice to meet you!"

The whole time when she was speaking, she never failed to not smile and flash those dazzling white teeth.

"O-okay," Hiccup stuttered. "How do you know my name, again?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? You, along with this . . . lovely fellow," she gave the still-growling dragon a distasteful look, "have been chosen by the Man in the Moon to be Guardians! Isn't it great?"

"Hold up!" Hiccup raised his hands in a time-out gesture. "What do you mean, Guardian? Why a dragon? And, who by Thor is the Man in the Moon?"

"Well, I suppose you know people like Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny, right?"

There was a long pause. ". . . Vaguely?" Hiccup offered.

"Huh?! What—oh my goodness—how could you not know—?!"

"Hey, I live in Berk! It's twelve days North of hopeless, and a few degrees South of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the meridian of misery. We don't do things like . . . um . . . what was it, again?"

"Things like Christmas?!" Tooth was hysterical, "and Easter? Wait, you don't know me?"

Hiccup didn't know what to say. Tooth's wings slowed and drooped, causing her to float just above the ground with her head bent down—starkly juxtaposing with her whizzing, beaming demeanor just a minute ago.

"A whole island . . ." she muttered. "No, never mind that— probably all the islands that surround this one, too . . . This makes it an especially easy target for Pitch . . ."

Hiccup didn't like the sound of that. Vikings and dragons—never really labeled as 'easy targets'.

But before he could enquire further into the matter, Tooth straightened, her expression more determined than ever.

She turned to Hiccup and the night fury, and began beseeching them once more.

They immediately protested. "Miss, you said that the dragon was apparently part of the deal too, right? Well, I don't know if you're from around here, but dragons are normally regarded as . . . hostile . . . and we're raised to 'kill on sight'."

The dragon agreed, nodding. Vikings. Dragons. We don't normally get along.

"And besides," Hiccup added, "I'm not exactly the most buff Viking around here. Go to the village and pick anyone else there."

The night fury closed its growling mouth. His eyes turned less narrow. He leaned back and sat on his haunches.

But Tooth was nowhere near giving up.

"Look, you can tell me over and over again about how you all aren't meant to be Guardians, but Manny told us so. And when the Moon tells you something, you should listen.

"And, hey: times are getting dangerous! You heard what I said: Pitch is going to come here, whether you guys know him or not. He'll take this place by storm. But you guys can stop that! You could. Will you?"

They both stare at her. She sighed. She doesn't have time for this.

Cracking open a portal behind them, the Viking and the Dragon fall in with a good shove from the Tooth Fairy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jack was having a blast. A snow day on mid-March afternoon, perfect for two reasons: March was generally the month where people stopped expecting snow, so it came as a NICE surprise (never was snow not considered 'nice, right?), and also because, well, snow days are perfect no matter what. Argue with that.

But, his oh-so-perfect snow day was utterly ruined. And really, besides boring office-working adults and those evil cold-hating swimsuit-wearing idiots, no one in their right mind would purposefully ruin an innocent snow day.

Except for Aster E. Bunnymund, Easter Bunny.

Honestly!

Everywhere that dratted wannabe-Kangaroo stepped, a flower sprouted and broke through the ice. Warm drafts calmed swirling winds. Not much snow was around.

Jack sniffed. Flowers. Bunnies. How uncool. (Pun intended)

"So whaddaya want?" he smirked, twirling his staff and causing snowflakes to fly everywhere.

"Frost." Bunny growled. He flicked a snowflake off his nose. "I'm not here on personal business. Which is why I'm not going to mention the Blizzard of '68, which just happened to be on Easter Sunday . . ."

"Aw, Bunny." Jack leaned on his staff. "You're not still mad about that, are you?"

"Yes, I am." Bunny stepped forward. "But as I said, this isn't about that."

"Do enlighten, oh wise one," Jack snickered. "But seriously, if you want me to help you paint eggs to pay you back, well, sorry, man—!"

"As if," Bunny scoffed. "You wouldn't be able to paint an egg of any standard if you tried. But as I said . . ."

Bunny trailed off and sighed. It was made clear that he was reluctant far more than reluctant to say whatever he had to say.

"Well . . ." he started, "Um, Manny wants you as a . . ."

"Go on, spit it out."

"As a . . ."

"What, a fuzz ball in your throat?"

Bunny growled. "A Guardian!"

Jack froze.

Then busted out laughing.

"A—pfft—what?!"

Bunny crossed his arms.

"He wants me as—LOL!"

Bunny tapped his foot, impatient.

Getting his laughter in control, he turned to face the Moon (completely ignoring the irritated Bunny).

"A Guardian? Me? That's what you've planned? That's what you haven't spoken a word to me about? You want to make me a Guardian? You really think that's a good idea?"

Jack strode down the now-dark alleyway, flicking frost along the path (again, ignoring Bunny).

"I'm supposed to be a Guardian."

He smirked—a strange, sad sort, but a smirk all the same.

"Pfft, says you."

~ huffsangrily