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A roar—Toothless's—desperate and angry.
Stoick knows, logically, that they'll find Hiccup; he can hear Toothless, and they're never too far from each other.
But he can't not worry about him. He's a Viking, but the loss of his son is an occupational hazard he wouldn't accept.
He can barely hear anymore, not the others behind him, not Toothless, not over his footsteps, not over the deafening heartbeat in his ears. That doesn't matter, though; nothing will stop him from finding his son.
A despaired howl, long and loud.
He finds Toothless, wings folded to his chest—too familiar of a sight. "Toothless…"
A pained roar.
"Please, if he's injured, I—"
It's not even a roar anymore, just a sad sound. He pulls his wings—and Hiccup in them—closer to his chest.
"Please…"
Toothless weakly lifts his wing, revealing an unconscious Hiccup. "Hiccup!"
He sees blood, but that's not his main concern right now—especially considering that it's not new; the bleeding must have stopped.
"I'm sorry…"
He holds his son like he did what seems like forever ago, expecting the same relief—that little heartbeat that told him his son was still fighting, that there was still a chance.
It never comes.
His human was going to die. He didn't know much about how humans work, but considering that Hiccup was stabbed with fire and is getting weaker by the second, Toothless knows this won't end well.
That sword was barely even a weapon; it was mostly used to calm dragons. He did use in it fights, but in defense, not to just hurt people.
It's a cruel irony that an object of peace will cause the death of his best friend.
He holds him close to his chest, not sure who he's trying to comfort. Toothless probably makes a sound, but he's too focused on his human to care.
He feels the gentle rise and fall of his chest get slower and shallower, until it stops entirely.
This time, Toothless knows he makes a sound.
He doesn't know when he stops.