@yogurtbear242 @indigoartistqueen @skyward-floored @telemna-hyelle @wolfwarden @a-little-bit-of-ravioli and anybody else who wanted to read the Wolf Link Reveal fic
Summary: When Link goes missing shortly after his adventure, Rusl is worried. Preparing to leave and search for him, he stumbles onto a wolf. This has to be a sign of trouble, right? Rusl thinks it is, and the swordsman attempts to eliminate the threat... and then realizes that there is far, far more to this beast than he thought possible.
(Click here to read on AO3)
Part 1 // Part 2>>
Ordon Village hummed with the song of crickets as the night sky cooled the earth. Rusl paced through the small rural settlement, ill at ease. Link had left the village two days ago with no notice whatsoever. It wasn’t exactly unheard of at this point, given everything that had happened over the past several months, but Rusl had heard of no news or dangers or stirrings throughout Hyrule. Which meant either Link just left to get some fresh air, or something was wrong and no one had heard yet.
The first option didn’t seem likely. Link had only returned home from his long journey a mere two weeks ago. In that time he’d mostly relegated himself to his home and to the goat ranch. He’d been somber, quiet, reclusive, but also very unmotivated. No, it wasn’t all that likely that he’d left the village for no reason.
Even if he had done so, it still worried Rusl. The boy was in no condition to be alone. Rusl and Uli had their hands full with their new daughter and with helping Colin process everything that had happened to him, but they still spent every moment possible trying to keep an eye on Link. Rusl didn’t want to push him to talk; he’d seen how haggard Link was over the course of his journey. These matters were difficult to parse out, and Link likely needed time to himself to sort it out first. But that didn’t mean they weren’t going to be within arm’s reach if the need arose, that didn’t mean Link couldn’t get hurt or need help. And he absolutely did not need to be left unattended.
The first day, Rusl had let it slide. Uli had been more outwardly anxious, and it had rubbed off on Colin, who said he would search the nearby woods. Once that had started to escalate, Rusl had said they needed to give Link some time. But that was the first day. It had been two days now.
Rusl didn’t want to wait any longer.
He’d gathered his belongings and spoken to Uli about the matter after Colin had gone to Mayor Bo’s house for the sleepover the village had planned (the children had grown accustomed to staying together at Kakariko and were still adjusting to being home, so the adults had decided they could have the occasional group sleepover). Rusl was going to start searching first thing in the morning, but he figured he’d at least go to Link’s home and rest there. It would allow him an early start and maybe he could get a hint about where the boy had gone.
As he passed through the small pathway between the main village and Link’s tree abode, Rusl paused, seeing something just in front of Link’s home. It was large, and he could vaguely see it move slightly in a rhythmic pattern. He crept closer and adrenaline surged through him at the recognition.
It was a wolf.
What was a beast doing in the village? Why was it near Link’s home? Was this an omen? The last time Rusl had seen a wolf was when the children had gone missing. Were there more beasts in the woods? Was this why Link had left? Had he gone to handle the situation? Did this wolf’s presence imply that he had failed? Was he out there somewhere, broken and bleeding, or even worse—
Rusl shook his head. Whatever was happening, he would eliminate this problem immediately.
Unsheathing his sword, the Ordonian crept stealthily towards the beast. It was lying on its side, seeming to be resting. It would be best and easiest if he snuck up on it and killed it quickly. He was less likely to get hurt and it would be a swift and merciful death for the creature.
He drew close enough to land a proper blow. Rusl held his blade up silently, and then he stabbed downward in a fluid motion.
The world slowed for a moment. The wolf’s ear twitched and the beast suddenly sprang into action, but the blade still cut true – well, almost. It sliced into the wolf’s belly well enough, making the creature wail and flinch away, but it was most certainly not going to kill it immediately.
Rusl didn’t have time or effort to worry about the animal dying slowly and in pain. The noise the creature made could attract more of its beastly brethren. He had to finish this.
The wolf whined, its ears peeled back, its tail between its legs. It was a pathetic sight, really, but Rusl was still on edge. He would finish this beast off and search the woods for others, and then he would immediately begin his search for Link, sleep be damned. This wolf couldn’t be a good sign.
Despite the grave wound, the large animal managed to scurry away before Rusl could land another blow. The swordsman gritted his teeth, following the blood trail into the woods. He would find it, he would kill it, and then he would immediately pack his things and go searching for Link.
The wolf was bleeding enough to be easily followed, but the dim light of the crescent moon did slow Rusl down a bit. Eventually, the blood led him to a small tunnel, and fresh claw marks clearly indicated a desperate attempt to flee into the hideaway. Rusl listened intently but didn’t hear any noises from any beast. He knew this tunnel led to both a dead end and Ordon Spring just outside of the village where Ilia and Link often took Epona and the children often played. The spring was usually closed in the evenings to prevent anyone from wandering too far from home once the sun set, so Rusl would have to climb the gate. He didn’t see any point in damaging the wood holding the lock in place, and there was no time to get the key.
Heading for the entrance, he paused and stilled as he heard whimpering. Peeking between the wooden bars and ivy, he saw the wolf staggering towards the water, which was glowing mildly in the pale moonlight. But then, something else happened, something bizarre and otherworldly. The wolf became encased in shadow, startling Rusl—he knew this beast was a foul creature, Link had to be in trouble!—and the darkness slowly reformed into a silhouette that resembled a person.
And then the darkness dissipated, and Link was there.
Link was there.
Link.
Link.
What?!
Link gasped, arm over his abdomen as blood dripped so generously that even Rusl could hear its impact on the spring’s water over the boy’s cries.
Rusl felt his blood run cold.
What… what was this? What was happening?
What had he done?!
Dropping his sword in a heartbeat, Rusl climbed the fence desperately, his heart in his throat. He cleared the top with a grunt, throwing himself over and landing in a roll. His momentum carried him to the water immediately, and he rushed to Link. The boy hadn’t seemed to notice him, too busy clutching his stomach and gasping. Link doubled over, almost collapsing into the spring as Rusl slid to his knees in time to catch him.
“Link!” he gasped, turning the boy over in his arms so he could see his face.
Link hiccupped, tears staining his round cheeks, his face pulling in absolute terror and pain. He whimpered, trying to push away from Rusl, and the man felt sick to his stomach.
“Link, I—I’m so—Link what—” Rusl tried to speak, but the more the boy struggled, the less Rusl’s voice would cooperate. His words devolved into hushes and shaky whispers of it’s okay over and over until his world could stop spinning. Link cried openly, curling in on himself after giving up on escaping.
Pulling the boy to his chest, Rusl tried and failed to get his breathing and heart rate under control. Oh my goddesses what have I done what have I done—
“It’s okay,” he whispered shakily for the hundredth time. “It’s okay, we’re going to fix this.”
That thought branded into his mind more than anything else. Once he said it, he felt the determination start to rise, beginning as a fire in his belly and roaring through his heart.
Ripping off his sleeves, Rusl wrapped them around Link’s abdomen tightly, making the boy gasp in pain. He bit his lip, trying to ignore Link’s cries as he finished tying the sleeves as makeshift bandages, trying to not be petrified at how quickly the green stained red.
“I’m going to fix this,” he said again, louder, and he pulled Link into a gentle hold in his arms, rising and carrying him out of the water. Link whimpered at the movement, clinging to Rusl’s tunic, making his heart break for a moment before he shook his head and reoriented. The swordsman laid Link on the ground, leaning him against the wall beside the fence. Link had Rusl’s own crafted sword on his back, making the man’s breath catch for a moment. Taking a calming inhale, Rusl pulled the blade from Link’s back and headed to the gate. With a swift strike he quickly cut the wood holding the gate closed and hastened back to the teenager bleeding to death beside it.
The moonlight certainly didn’t help Rusl get a good look at Link; instead, it made him look outright ghostly. By this point, Link was wheezing, his head hanging limply on his chest. Rusl gathered him into his arms once more and rose, trying to ignore the cry of pain that issued involuntarily from his charge.
His charge, his responsibility, his boy—
How? How?
Rusl shook his head and whispered softly, “Hang in there, Link. You’re going to be okay.”
The journey back to his own house probably only took about two minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. Every step he took he saw Link’s blood glistening in the grass, little speckles that he’d just used to track a wolf in an attempt to kill it.
Blood that he’d spilled.
Rusl felt nauseous. He almost couldn’t breathe. He reached his house in record time, managing to turn the handle before he kicked the door open entirely. The room was still lit, and Uli had been sitting at the table. She was standing now, hand reaching for some sort of weapon to use on the wall before she took in the sight and gasped.
“Get the bandages!” Rusl ordered as he hastened to the couch, gently putting Link down. By this point the boy was barely conscious, but his death grip on Rusl’s tunic remained steadfast. He slowly pulled each individual finger off himself, letting Link hold his hand instead as his other hand pulled out a dagger to cut through Link’s clothes and expose the wound completely.
Rusl’s makeshift bandage was soaking wet.
Growing frantic, Rusl cut through fabric hastily. Link’s abdomen had a deep laceration, though not deep enough to eviscerate, thank the goddesses. Blood was still pooling at an alarming rate, but it seemed like it had slowed from what it had been back at the spring.
Uli rushed to his side. “What happened?”
Rusl didn’t dare speak. Instead, he took the bandages and paused as he watched the wound continue to bleed. It was far too open to stop on its own. He could put pressure to help, but this wound would remain open for too long.
But it was too deep for stitches. Sewing it up wouldn’t stop the damage underneath the surface.
He’d have to pack the wound.
Grabbing some gauze, Rusl washed his hands and took a steadying breath as Uli shifted Link a little, sitting on the couch and letting his head rest on her lap. Her fingers gently massaged his scalp and she bent over him, whispering reassurances that Rusl couldn’t hear. When he was ready, he pulled the stool by the sofa, staring at the boy’s abdomen with dread.
The bleeding was not as severe at this point, but this was going to start it up again if he wasn’t careful. He had to be quick and steady. Rusl reached and started to efficiently place gauze into the wound bed, watching the white stain red around the edges as the tissue leaked blood in protest. Link practically shriveled, his legs curling up with his feet planted firmly on the sofa, and Uli hastily snatched his hands away from Rusl’s work.
“Shh, it’s okay sweetie,” Uli whispered, planting a kiss on Link’s forehead as he gasped.
Rusl bit his tongue and focused to keep his hand from trembling. When he was almost finished, Link’s legs moved and Rusl froze to prevent further injury. Link was trying to push himself off the couch at this point. Rusl looked pleadingly at Uli.
“Shh, Link,” she hushed gently as he cried. “Honey, you have to stay still. He’s almost done, I promise.”
Link, who had been keeping his eyes squeezed shut the entire time, sucked in his lips and bit them, tears streaming down his face. His body stiffened, but he didn’t budge. Rusl nodded and quickly finished his work, covering the entire wound with a thick gauze pad and wrapping more around his abdomen to hold everything in place.
Relieved that the job was done, Rusl leaned back, sighing heavily. Link settled a bit as well as his wound was left alone. Uli continued to whisper to him softly, stroking his hair. Rusl looked away to focus his thoughts. He had to figure out what he was going to do and deal with the emotional ramifications later. Link needed help. Rusl’s wound care had stopped the bleeding, but there were so many things that could go wrong with the healing process. Link couldn’t be left in this state.
Kakariko. They had to go to Kakariko.
They couldn’t leave tonight, that much was certain. There was no way Rusl would be able to pack supplies, get a wagon from the mayor, and fend off the nighttime monsters with a grievously injured Link in the wagon.
Which meant Link had to survive the night here.
“Uli,” Rusl called her attention softly, refusing to look at the couch just yet. “Do we have any milk?”
“Just half a bottle left,” Uli answered uncertainly. “Will it help?”
“It’s always helped me in the past on journeys,” Rusl said to reassure himself as much as her.
Uli slipped out from under Link’s head, gently putting a pillow in her place. He didn’t seem to register the movement. As she headed to wherever she had stored the milk, it gave Rusl a moment—just a moment—to process.
He ran outside and vomited.
Link was—he had—
Rusl nearly got ill again when he heard Uli’s voice. “Rusl?”
He turned, panting for air, tears stinging in his eyes. “It’s—I’m fine. It’s just—let’s focus on Link.”
Uli’s brow furrowed deeply, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she nodded and stepped aside for him to reenter the house. She walked to Link, and Rusl helped sit him up so he could drink. He was too weak and in too much pain to be coherent, not listening when Uli held the bottle out for him to grab, so she instead went and grabbed a spoon and started to pour into it and tip it into his mouth. Rusl felt Link trembling in his hold, his body wrenching forward when he would gasp in pain, still in tears, nearly spilling the offered milk.
Eventually Rusl gave up on trying to prop Link up and just picked him back up. He then sat on the couch with Link on his lap, one arm secured tightly around his shoulders to try to keep him in place while the other rested around his legs so he wouldn’t thrash around. Uli took a shaky breath and tried again.
This time it went more smoothly. Link couldn’t fidget or jerk out of Rusl’s firm grip, and the only thing stopping him from drinking were the sobs that would escape him. Rusl felt himself shaking at both the effort to hold Link still and his own body betraying him after holding back the horror of everything for so long.
When the bottle was finally finished, Link coughed a little, a trace amount of milk dribbling down his chin, and Rusl froze in worry. Pain could make someone nauseous, and the last thing he wanted was for Link to throw up what meager nutrition they could get into him. Thankfully, the coughing didn’t progress, and the parents sighed in relief as Uli wiped Link’s face with a rag.
Running out of ideas for interventions, Rusl finally settled on just letting the boy sleep. He rose and went to their bedroom wordlessly, leaving Uli to clean up the disaster they’d left behind. He didn’t have the emotional energy to even feel guilty about it. In the corner of the bedroom was their daughter’s crib, where she had miraculously slept through the entire ordeal.
Rusl sat on the bed, letting Link settle on his lap for a moment. The boy was trembling and utterly exhausted, soft hiccups the remaining vestiges of his earlier sobs. Uli entered the room, watching them both with tears glistening in her eyes.
“Rusl,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“Please, Uli,” he said, his voice quivering. “Not now. I’ll tell you everything later.”
Uli took a slow, deep breath, and then nodded. She walked to the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets back for all three of them, and tossed the extra pillow between theirs. Rusl felt the mattress shift as his wife laid down, and he clutched Link even more tightly. The boy wasn’t as small or light as he used to be, though, so eventually the swordsman twisted and let the teenager settle on the bed. He continued to keep an arm around him, lying down beside him and pulling him close. At this point, Rusl was half convinced he was never going to let the boy go.
If that meant something like tonight would never happen again, then he would happily keep Link at his side for the rest of his days.
Releasing a shuddering sigh into Link’s sweaty hair, Rusl pulled the blankets up around the boy just as Uli did so. Link shifted on occasion, clearly still in pain, but he was far calmer than he had been earlier. Rusl prayed some of the warm milk they’d given him would help settle him.
After what felt like an eternity, the effect finally did take hold. Link’s breathing evened out, and he relaxed in Rusl’s protective embrace. Uli eventually started to drift off as well despite her efforts to watch their eldest.
Rusl, however, couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get the image of the wolf out of his mind, the shadows coalescing into a distinctly familiar form. Couldn’t get the heart stopping feeling out his body at realizing what had happened.
Couldn’t understand how or why.
Link shifted slightly, likely to get more comfortable, when he hissed. His wound must have bothered him, and his eyes popped open as he grimaced. Rusl moved to soothe him, but the instant Link’s gaze settled on the man, he turned distinctly paler. Rusl felt his own mind grow numb at the sheer terror on Link’s face.
Terror. He was afraid of him. His boy was afraid of him.
Crying out, Link shoved hard, and though the boy was hurt he was still the strongest teenager Rusl had ever seen, and it sent the man tumbling off the bed. Uli awoke with a gasp, and a moment later, so did their daughter with a shrill cry. Rusl scrambled to his feet and saw Link trying to crawl backwards, pushing with his feet to reach the other side of the bed and crashing into Uli. Rusl reached forward hastily, securing a hold under Link’s armpits and pulling him back to himself.
Holding him tightly, he whispered, “It’s okay, Link. You’re safe. You’re… I’m… I’m not going to hurt you.”
Oh, and those words burned as they came out of his mouth, they made him dizzy and sick to his stomach. Uli thankfully didn’t hear them with all the noise Link and Hana were making. Husband and wife had a wordless exchange with their eyes, and Uli rose to take care of the baby, carrying her out of the room to calm her.
Link shriveled in Rusl’s hold, seemingly trying to disappear from reality. Rusl didn’t know what to say, didn’t feel like he deserved to reassure him. But Link also didn’t deserve to feel like this.
“Link,” he said softly, kissing his head. “You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe.
When Link finally looked at his guardian, Rusl recognized the expression. It was no longer pure terror, there was more to it. Link’s initial knee-jerk reaction had been borne from being disoriented, but now he looked guilty. He had the expression he would get when he was afraid of being reprimanded as a child.
He thought Rusl was angry at him.
“Goddesses,” Rusl exclaimed under his breath. “Link, I’m not mad. You’re not in trouble.”
Why would Link even assume that?! Did he do something wrong to end up looking like a beast? It didn’t matter what he’d done, what mattered was what Rusl had done!
There was more to it, clearly. Link was still upset, and it wasn’t just the pain. Speaking of that, though, the boy’s face was growing steadily paler, and Rusl quickly pulled up the shirt Uli had supplied to see the bandages were still clean. Good. He wasn’t bleeding through them.
Pulling Link close again, Rusl whispered, “It’s okay, Link. Go to sleep. Uli and I are here, and you’re safe.”
As he spoke, Uli reentered the room with a calmed Hana in her arms. She hummed gently, rocking the baby back and forth, and her melody soothed both their children back into slumber. Hana was placed back in her crib, Link was tucked back against Rusl’s side, and the parents settled, exchanging silent strength between each other. Rusl reached his hand out, and Uli took it. The couple watched each other and their children through the night. Neither said a word.
Gregory I am genuinely so enraged that you asked me to write this but I am a humble entertainer who dances to the whims of the audience so. Boo hiss here this is.
Heads up for copious Supernatural references. Also they’re both American in this. It takes place on November 5th.
Mashton: “now his tummy’s gonna be full of mud”
"Ashton," Michael says urgently, staring at his phone.
"What?" Ashton asks, heart pounding. Has another state flipped? Have ballots been counted enough to call another win or loss? Michael stays silent for a moment longer, then moves a hand to cover his mouth. Ashton can't tell if this reaction is positive or negative, and it sends his anxiety spiking, as if it hasn't already been bad enough since he woke up on Tuesday.
"Michael, what is it?"
"Destiel is canon."
Ashton blinks.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Destiel, from Supernatural, was made canon in tonight's episode. Then I think they killed him."
"Killed which one?" Ashton asks, because how else is he supposed to respond?
"Cas. Apparently he confessed his love and then, like, immediately died. They really did a speed run bury your gays."
"What the fuck?" he asks faintly, moving next to Michael on the couch so he can properly see his phone.
Ashton hasn't exactly been keeping up with the show, but he used to be a fan. The first few seasons were really good, actually. There's some interesting points to be made about American loneliness and the portrayal of masculinity in post-9/11 Bush administration, and Ashton is always a sucker for strong family dynamics in media. There's something familiar about Dean's loyalty and Sam's aspirations, and Ashton has read up about the influence Kerouac and Siken had on the development of the premise and Kripke's vision.
He stopped watching somewhere in season six, so he wasn't overly invested in Destiel, but he can see the appeal of it. The concept of an angel of the Lord pulling a repressed homosexual man out of eternal damnation and falling in love with him while they both fight against a predetermined reality really could've been a beautiful story if they hadn't ruined it with the rest of the show.
It's just a monster-of-the-week show that devolved into something slightly worse, but Ashton enjoys romanticizing it a little.
"Where's the clip?" he asks. Michael searches around and manages to find it, and he turns up the volume and tilts his phone so they both can see better. Ashton recoils slightly at how deep their voices are, because he forgot that both actors torture themselves like that this late in the game, but then he's quickly drawn in to watching the most perplexing love confession he's ever seen.
"What the fuck?" he says to himself once it's finished. He has no clue what the context was, but he was so distracted by the weird acting and editing that he's not sure if he really needs it.
"Dude, Dean didn't even reciprocate," Michael says. "That was genuinely the most homophobic love confession they could've done."
"Well, he could come back to life," Ashton says. "There's two episodes left. Maybe they'll somehow save him and then Dean will do an equally cringe-worthy love confession and they'll actually live happily."
"Yeah, maybe," Michael says. Ashton hums, and then Michael starts giggling.
"Destiel became canon before we got the election results," he says.
"Well," Ashton says, starting to laugh a little himself. "It's 2020. Might as well throw canon Destiel in there."
"What the fuck," Michael says, and suddenly they're both full-on laughing, because yeah, what the actual fuck? They're in the middle of a global pandemic, waiting for the results of the most important election of their life so far, living through about five major historical events a week, and suddenly Destiel becomes canon in the most homophobic way possible, complete with a possibly-unrequited love, weird acting and editing, and then immediate use of the bury your gays trope. There's nothing to do but laugh. Ashton feels like God gave Samuel Beckett the pen and let him write this year, because things are quickly approaching absurdism.
"I kind of want to watch the first episode with Cas now," Michael says. "Knowing that this is what he ends up with, I think it'll be funny to see the beginning.
Ashton has two papers due on Thursday and half of a book that he has to finish by tomorrow, but it's not like he was having much luck focusing on it before, anyway. What harm will one episode of Supernatural do?
"We're doing it," Michael says. He probably has his own block of homework he needs to steadily be working through, but Ashton certainly isn't going to call him on it. Michael has been nothing but nerves, fear, and irritability since Tuesday, and it's nice to see him smiling.
Who knew that canon Destiel would be the way to accomplish that?
Michael sets up the TV while Ashton clears the coffee table so they can put their feet up if they so desire.
"You know he doesn't appear until the end of the episode, right?" Ashton says. "I don't actually remember if they really talk in this one."
"Then we'll watch the next episode too. This isn't amateur hour, Ashton. I want to see Castiel have a fully conversation with the love of his life!"
"Alright," Ashton says. "Want to just binge the entire season?"
"We'll see," Michael says, sitting closer than he was before and pulling a blanket off the back of the couch to cover their laps. Ashton puts his arm along the back of the couch so Michael can cuddle up if he wants. He's always been pretty tactile, but with the election he's been too jittery to ask Ashton for contact. Maybe he'll settle enough here to accept some.
"Ready?" Michael asks, holding the remote. He doesn't wait for a response before pressing play, and they talk the entire way through "The Road So Far," trying to remind each other what context they need when neither of them have actually watched the show in years.
"Hey, how is he going to get out?" Ashton asks when Dean starts banging on the lid of his coffin. "That's a lot of dirt he has to dig through. It'd be too heavy and he'd probably suffocate."
"He's just going to eat the dirt," Michael says with a straight face, and that sends Ashton into another fit of giggles.
"What the fuck, Michael," he laughs.
"Why not?" Michael asks, trying to hold back his own smile. "Do you see another way for him to get out of there?"
"Maybe his angel boyfriend will help him."
Dean's hands break through the Earth, and Michael turns an unimpressed look to him.
"Do you see Castiel anywhere?"
Ashton concedes his point until Michael starts complaining about Dean breaking in to the nearby gas station and guzzling water.
"He's been dead! He's probably really thirsty, and it's not like they haven't done worse."
"Now his tummy's gonna be full of mud," Michael laments, and that starts Ashton laughing again.
"He didn't eat the dirt!"
"How else did he get out, Ashton?" Michael says, but he's laughing now, too, a delighted, high-pitched sound that Ashton loves, shoulders releasing some of the tension that has built up there.
"Pay attention, he's calling Bobby," Ashton says, and Michael slumps against him. He keeps up a stream of commentary, cheering when Castiel finally appears at the end, then talks all the way through the next few episodes, too. The only reason that Ashton realizes he's fallen asleep on his shoulder is the suspicious lack of talking once they reach the seventh episode of the night.
Michael hasn't been sleeping well. Neither of them have, really, but the dark circles stand out more under his eyes than Ashton's. They should probably part ways and head off to separate beds, but Ashton is loath to wake him. Instead, he carefully grabs the remote and turns the volume down just a little. He shifts slightly, only enough so neither of them will get a crink in their necks, and rests his own head on top of Michael's. He's out by the time the episode switches over again.
When I get closer to reopening the blog öffically and begin RLLY deciding on a new url: should I let y’all vote on the top three or somethin.. hmmmpjhjmm mahbe
Do you know about how many more chapters 2am is going to have? I only ask cos I'm gonna be really sad when it's over since it's my absolute favorite. 😭😍❤️
