Imagine the dragon riders never stopped being mean. Snotlout and the twins just had to stop being so. . . Physical with their bullying. But they’re always capable of making jabs at hiccup, and if Toothless gets mad they can make it seem like he’s the problem.
All of the dragon riders feel a collective jealousy. How did Hiccup, the chiefs runty son, tame a nightfury? How did he get the dragons respect and not someone more deserving of it? Even fishlegs and Astrid are jealous.
Astrid, who’s jealous because hiccup was nothing, but now he’s something. Now, hiccup has a nightfury, and the tribes respect. Astrid loves Hiccup, she would sooner kill anyone who said otherwise, but during Dragon training and the first months when dragons were getting integrated into the village she couldn’t help but feel jealous. She couldn’t name what she was jealous of, sometimes she felt jealous of the dragons taking Hiccups attention, other times she felt jealous of Hiccup himself. All she knew was that at the pit of her stomach, burning jealousy would rise.
Fishlegs, who was previously recognized as the smartest boy on the island. Not hiccup, the apprentice black smith whose crafts rivaled Gobber’s, Fishlegs. Because Hiccup was crazy and deluded whereas Fishlegs wasn’t. But now, Hiccup is “smarter than Fishlegs” knows more than fishlegs about many dragons. He can’t stand it. It’s even worse when Hiccup doesn’t even acknowledge it, acts as if they’re equals. Hiccup and Fishlegs are friends, but fishlegs occasionally feel sharp teeth of jealousy sinking itself in his neck.
Hiccups knows, of course. He has an inkling of an idea, residue of distrust and suspicion from a part of his childhood that’ll haunt his nightmares forever. He isn’t a vengeful person, he doesn’t hold anything against them. “We were young” he reasons to Toothless “people make mistakes” he’ll excuse, Toothless will huff, puff, and stomp his feet but a glare from Hiccup shuts him up. Hiccup will pretend like he believes what he said, that he truly does have such strong conviction in his heart, but on cold dark nights, when old scars itch, burn, and paralyzed him, he allows himself the grace of admitting to himself, “things were fucked up”
