Word count: 1,503
Fandom: Linked Universe
Characters: Sky & Wind
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“Sky, you gotta teach me that move!”
Sky jumps as Wind hurls himself down by his side, rocking the log he was perched on and nearly upsetting the food in Sky’s lap. Using both hands to steady his bowl, he gives Wind a curious look.
“You know!” Wind elbows him good-naturedly, a wild grin on his face. “The one you used on the Yiga from before.”
“Oh.” Sky smiles stiffly back. “Y-yeah. That was… that was exciting.”
“Right?! He appeared out of nowhere. Just poof-” Wind’s hands gesticulate dramatically as he retells the events from a scant two hours ago, “and then he’s there, an assassin right behind you!”
Sky’s smile remains fixed in place but the edges of his bowl press a little deeper into his hands. The other heroes have long finished their own dinners and moved on to other activities, only Wind lingering around Sky and his now-cold food. Sky had wondered at that, Wind not being one to just sit around if he could help it, but it’s now evident why.
Wind continues, his natural tendency toward storytelling sweeping him into the tale. “I didn’t even notice him until I turned and saw that crazy eye mask right over your shoulder.”
Sky can’t help the shudder that rolls through him, but he manages to keep his face blank, showing no hint of the revulsion that fills him. If he lets his mind wander, he'll feel the phantom press of pale fingers clutching at his shoulder, of unhinged laughter harsh against his ears, of intrusive breath puffing against his cheek-
“I wish I could teleport,” Wind sighs dramatically. “Wouldn’t that be so cool? Just a simple-” Wind’s hand rises to illustrate his point, fingers producing the sound of a sharp SNAP.
Sky jolts, spine snapping straight as old wounds seem to burn anew. His head half turns before he catches himself, helpless against the urge to check behind him.
“Oh, Sky, you dropped your food.” Wind dives down to gather up the spilled bowl. “I can get you more-”
“No,” Sky shakes his head, “I wasn’t hungry anyway.” With nothing to hold on to, Sky’s hands begin to tremor. He stuffs them under legs, letting his own weight press them into stillness against the tree bark.
Wind puts the bowl aside. “Really? Well, why don’t you come spar with the rest of us.” He gestures to the far side of camp where the other heroes are gathered in a clearing past the trees.
Sky can hear the clang of swords and the occasional angry word as competitive tempers flare. He doesn’t think he has it in him today to spar. He hears Warriors call out a friendly jeer, and his stomach twists tighter in a knot that formed hours ago and won't release him. The afterimage of black diamonds flit across his vision. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to shake off the jittery feeling.
“If you come you could show me that move?” Wind hops to his feet. “But only If you want. Oh, but it was just so cool! You whipped around so fast and had your sword drawn on the guy before he could even-”
Wind’s flailing hand hooks into Sky’s shoulder and blinding panic whites out Sky's every thought. He shouts, rocketing backward, kicking out blindly as he tumbles to the leaf-strewn ground.
He hears a body hit the ground with a grunt and has to remind himself to 'breathe, just breathe. Look, it’s only-' “Wind!" The boy is staring up at Sky with wide-eyed shock. "Oh no! I’m so sorry!” Sky is a flutter of apologies as he crawls forward to check the damage he's caused.
But Wind waves him back, already clambering to his feet. “’S all right, Sky. You only nicked me.”
“You’re holding your side!” Sky protests, flushed red with shame as his heart still thunders away. “And I shouldn’t have done that! I- I wouldn’t do that, I didn’t realize it was you-”
“Well, who did you think I was?”
The question is asked with a breathy laugh, only seeking to cut the tension, but Sky freezes, kneeling in the fall leaves with hands outstretched. “I-” he gapes at Wind, feeling foolish. “Nobody. I’m sorry, Wind. I shouldn’t have… reacted so strongly.” Another shout sounds from beyond the trees quickly accompanied by laughter. Sky curls in on himself, drawing the edges of his sailcloth tighter around his shoulders. “That was my fault. Forgive me.”
Wind shakes his head. “Nothing to forgive.”
Sky looks unconvinced. “I- I think I have a potion-“
“Sky, it won’t even bruise.” He takes a moment to really look at Sky, before determination colors his expression. He steps forward and kneels in front of Sky. Then, making sure to telegraph his every move, reaches forward to wrap Sky into the biggest hug he can manage.
Sky flinches back.
Wind pulls away immediately. “Sorry, is this wrong? I thought- I mean, this is what you usually do for… for us.” He winces as he stumbles over his words.
“I know.” Sky’s head is down, staring far too intently at the leaves gathered around his knees. He shivers despite all his layers of clothing.
Wind thinks he’s never seen Sky look so small. It’s an odd sensation. Sky always seemed larger than life, a hero from the beginning of time, the creator of the Master Sword, a being who came to earth from life in the clouds. “Sky?”
“Please don’t touch me.”
Wind may not understand everything that just happened in Sky’s mind, but he knows the sound of fear and shame in Sky's voice. “Okay.” He makes himself comfortable on the ground, careful not to draw any closer. “What do you need me to do?”
Sky drops his head even lower so his fluffy bangs hang over his eyes. The tips of his ears are bright red against the blue and white of the sailcloth behind them.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Sky jerks his head up and gasps out, “No!”
Wind carefully doesn’t react to the edge of panic rolled into that one word. “Then I’ll stay.”
“I’m sorry,” Sky whispers.
“For what?” Now that he’s caught Sky’s gaze he fights to hold it with his own, unwilling to see his friend drop his head in shame again. “You don’t have to like being touched all the time. I don’t like it all the time.” He twists up his face in an exaggerated grimace. “Especially when Wars and Twi muss up my hair when they’re trying to out-big-brother each other. Morons.”
There’s a flicker of a smile across Sky’s face and Wind glows with secret pride.
“I’ll make sure to ask next time,” Sky says.
“Naw. You don’t have to ask.”
Sky’s face twists in confusion.
Wind shrugs. “You give good hugs.” His face feels a little warm but he pushes on anyway. If releasing one teeny tiny secret of his will make Sky feel better he’ll do it. “When I’m homesick… I guess I don’t mind it when you hug me. It- it’s nice. And don’t you dare tell anyone I said that or use it for nefarious purposes, Sky!”
That gets a huff of air out of Sky, an almost-laugh, and Wind will take it. “You’re always looking out for us. Isn’t there anything I can do for you?” Sky doesn’t answer. So Wind waits. He tries to do so patiently, but he hates sitting still. How is he supposed to fix things sitting down? The possibility that Sky will just push him away hangs heavy over him, some problems deemed too big for someone so little to understand, but Wind does his best to ignore his own insecurities. He can tell this is not about him. “If it’s just sitting here with no talking I can 100% do that no problem.” Probably. Mostly silent, anyway. If it’s for Sky he’ll manage, somehow.
Abruptly, Sky reaches out and carefully curls two fingers around Wind’s hand.
Wind sucks in a sharp breath and scrutinizes his friend for any visible discomfort. “This is supposed to be for you, Sky. Don’t do this if you don’t want to.”
Sky fully wraps his hand into Wind’s, pauses, then squeezes his hand in three little bursts. Wind wonders briefly if that was supposed to mean something, but notes how Sky’s shoulders dropped, no longer hunched up around his ears.
“Okay then.” So Wind sits, watching the golden-red leaves flutter between them, whistling an occasional tune, and holding Sky’s hand. And slowly, Sky relaxes, rolling his eyes at Wind’s intentionally poor rendition of a jaunty forest tune Time had taught them. Bit by bit he huffs and unfurls and smiles wider and Wind still doesn’t let him go.
He doesn't let go even when the others draw back toward the camp, noisy and pleasantly exhausted. He doesn’t let go when Warriors and Twilight catch sight of them and exchange a confused look.
Wind only sniffs loftily at the pair, holding Sky’s hand up as evidence, and says, “Big brother duties.”
Sky laughs, a real one this time, and Wind thinks that’s worth an evening of just sitting still.
Whumptober Day 5 & 24- Blood Loss, "I don't want to do this anymore."
Word count: 3,703
Fandom: Linked Universe
Characters: Time & Warriors
(@gintrinsic-writing this is at least partly your fault. 😅)
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Time wakes slowly, his heart stuttering oddly in his chest. The wound in his shoulder burns and overshadows the aches flaring all along his side from where he hit the ground. He struggles to raise his head, but a steady hand presses down on his chest, trapping him.
“Stay down. You’ll only make yourself dizzy.”
He hates how easily he’s held down. Is the person beside him that strong or is Time that weak? He frowns and tries to blink the world back into focus. “I hit my head, didn’t I.”
“No. But you’re bleeding a lot. Take it easy.” The tone is gentle and fond and familiar. Time finds it hard not to relax into those words. They make him feel very young, like when he first met the Captain in the War of Ages. It had been an odd adventure, with a different hero looking after him instead of- Wait. His thoughts are sluggish but he tries to push through. That is the Captain’s voice. I'm with him but he’s Warriors now and I… I was hit. He tries once more to sit up.
“Old man!” Warriors snaps at him and grabs Time’s arm, grip strong and steady.
The world dips and sways for a moment before leveling out. Time leans closer to his support, his pulse thundering in his ears as he sucks in a shaky breath.
“Stubborn cuss. I told you.”
Once again the hands push him forcibly back to the ground. “Ah. It’s the blood loss, I take it,” Time says, avoiding Warriors' exasperated gaze by focusing on the rosy sky behind him. The sunrise has painted the morning a deep pink.
“The- of course, it’s the blood loss. You had an arrow in your shoulder!”
Time tries to inspect his tunic, fingers fumbling over torn and bloody (but thankfully arrow-free) fabric. Warriors bats the probing fingers away. Time’s fingers instead follow a trailing bloodstain up to the captain’s beloved scarf, reaching up and tugging at the stained fabric just under Warriors’ chin. “Getting sloppy.”
Warriors’ hands give a rough jerk as they wind a bandage around Time’s wound. “Don’t worry about it.”
Is it normal for the world to tip so unnervingly? Time feels he might topple over despite already lying flat on his back. Or maybe he’ll fall up into the sky. He fights to pull his thoughts back in line as his mouth babbles on. “You’re normally so careful. Probably ‘cause you’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Doing what? Patching you up?” The words are lighthearted but Warriors seems distracted, eyes flitting from side to side. “I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime, Sprite.”
“Sorry.” The shadows at the edges of Time’s vision darken and stretch for a moment, so he tries to slow his breathing, fighting the pull of unconsciousness. But the air feels too thin. It whistles in and out of him in quick, shallow bursts. “I might pass out.” His voice sounds wondering, like a child’s.
“Yes, you might.”
But that wasn’t right. He just woke up. He’s recovered from worse injuries than this without feeling so heavy and weak. Stubbornness makes him clench his fists and gather himself for another attempt at rising.
He fails.
It rankles to think Warriors will have to take care of him on top of leading the others. He’s been taking on too much recently, Time thinks, and he’s going to burn out… Memories from the past couple of weeks crowd forward in his mind: Warriors jumping to patch everyone up after battles no matter his own injuries; Warriors insisting on seeing to tasks alone so the others could rest; Warriors wandering back into camp with an unconscious hero in his arms, stubbornly putting himself in charge of their recovery.
Frankly, it was alarming how frequently that last one had been happening, and Time wasn’t about to become the next burden. “Help me up,” he says.
“You’re too weak.” A gentle hand sweeps over his head. “Rest now.”
“Silly to go back to sleep this early in the morning. It’s time to be up. So I should be up.” Time tries for a teasing smile but Warriors’ answering look is still tense. He tries for a more sincere tone, searching for the key to let him win this argument. “I’m not that kid anymore. I should be taking care of you.”
“You do.” The words are soft and difficult to catch. “You are.”
“Not enough,” Time insists.
Warriors hesitates before answering in a near-whisper, “Too much.”
Something in those words isn’t right. Time tries to sit up again, to get a closer look at Warriors, but weariness has him bound to the ground. He wants to assure Warriors that he sees him and everything he does for them. Everything he did was for the good of the group.
Warriors sucks in a shaky breath. “You were already so pale… but I couldn’t…” His face twists into a pained expression before he gives his head a sharp shake. “No more. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
There’s something amiss here, Time thinks, like Warriors is trying to convince himself of something, but Time’s sluggish brain still won’t cooperate.
“It’s okay. It won’t happen again.” Warriors finally turns to look at Time, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the recent fight. He looks more energized now than before the fight began. He slots his arms under Time’s shoulders and knees and in one motion has him hoisted into the air.
But that can’t be right. Time’s vision floats in and out of focus but he knows this can’t be real. Warriors carry him in full armor? The captain is strong but not that strong, so what on earth is happening…
Time blinks and finds himself on the ground again, armor and weapons removed, bundled in a blanket and soaking in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. Legend is lying close to his side, similarly bundled up. Their veteran still hasn't fully recovered from yesterday’s battle, where he’d taken a hit meant for someone else. He seems to be sleeping peacefully now and Time can’t bring himself to wake him and ask how he really made it back to camp.
“Need something warm to drink?” Wild crouches next to Time, steaming cup in hand, looking much less pale than he did yesterday though he still wears a bandage around his neck at Warriors’ insistence.
“Thank you.” Time reaches for the cup but pauses as his hands shake. He glares at them, trying not to feel too irritated with his body’s weakness. Malon would put up such a fuss if she knew how hard he was being on himself again.
Wordlessly, Wild helps him into a slightly more upright position and guides the cup to Time’s mouth. The homey taste of milk and honey floods his mouth, but a bitter aftertaste has him grimacing.
Wild watches him with far too innocent an expression.
He laces his question into a single word, “Wild.”
The young man snorts. “Sorry. Mixed a bit of red potion in there.”
Even as he says it, Time can feel the ache in his shoulder ease considerably. “You shouldn’t have wasted it.”
“It’ll only be a waste if you don’t finish it. Drink up.”
He begrudgingly raises the cup only to have his hands tremor again, slopping honeyed milk over the side.
“Careful!” Wild steadies him. “I guess,” he asks disappointedly, “you’re still feeling weak too?”
Time frowns. “It would appear so.” This was not the first instance of this happening. Another injury that felt worse than it should. Another potion that healed flesh but did not restore strength. The puzzle nagged at Time.
“Warriors thinks we might have gotten a bad batch of red potions at our last stop, but Four thinks that there’s something about this era that’s affecting us.” From the pinched expression on his face, Time can tell the mystery is bothering Wild just as much.
Time tries to push his cup back to Wild. “Give the rest of this to Legend.”
“Oh, no, you’re drinking that. Besides I’ve already had Legend drink a potion.”
Time looks over his shoulder at Legend, still sleeping through their whispered conversation. He already senses the answer but can’t help but ask, “No change?”
“No. His wounds are all closed up but he still seems so drained.” Wild sounds tired himself. “But then again, there was a lot of blood….”
Indeed there was. Time can remember it clearly. The crack of a metal blade splitting a shield. Legend’s shocked cry of pain. Warriors' blinding panic as Legend fell back against him, blood splattering across the captain’s face. He recalls the way Warriors curled over Legend, equal parts protective and manic, shouting at them all in a near scream “stay back, I know what to do, just give me space!”
Time shudders, a chill snaking through him.
“Time?” Wild lifts the cup again. “You need to drink.”
He obeys if only to spare Wild from having to worry over another patient. Despite its offensive aftertaste, the warm drink does its work and by the time it’s gone Time feels the irresistible pull of sleep. He doesn’t fight it. “Wake me in an hour,” he mumbles. Perhaps after a short rest, his thoughts will stop tumbling over themselves. Later, in the clear light of day, perhaps things will make sense.
~~~
When he wakes, there is no sun to greet him. Cold moonlight paints the campsite and Time is groggily counting the Hylian-sized shapes on the ground before his thoughts properly crystallize. He reaches seven, counting himself, before his ears catch the harsh whispers of conversation from deeper in the woods.
“They’ve settled in for the night but still close enough it makes me uneasy, ‘specially considering we’ve got injured.”
That was Twilight. Was there danger nearby?
“But not many?”
Warriors’ voice, his tone sharp and focused.
“Four Bokoblins, a single Lizalfos, and a couple Like-Likes. Easy pickin’s.”
Time could almost hear the eye-roll in Twilight’s voice.
Twilight continued, "I'll keep an eye on 'em for now and we can pick them off just before daybreak."
Ah. Nothing too out of the ordinary then. Twilight was adhering to Warriors’ standing “orders” (though he was careful never to frame them as such): No splitting the group to pick off unaware monsters. No solo hunts. And certainly no unplanned attacks at night.
"No.”
"No?" Time feels his own surprise mirrored in Twilight's response. "But you-"
"Look at them, Rancher. Our companions are all exhausted. I know I don't normally condone this, but let's clear these monsters on our own."
Time can't see Twilight's expression, but the silence drags on uncomfortably long. There's the soft sound of a few footfalls drawing closer, then Warriors’ voice sounds again.
"We need to look after them. Time especially… he was so pale after the fight today…"
"You think he's getting sick?"
Twilight's concern is an almost tangible thing, the weight of it pressing down on Time. He wants to roll over and object that he's fine, but he holds still. There’s an awful creeping feeling, born from years of adventuring, cautioning him to wait.
Warriors hums in contemplation. "Yes, that might explain a few things. A sickness."
"Four told me yesterday that he's concerned about Legend and Wild. They haven't been acting right either."
"How so?" Warriors’ voice has turned harsh. Time knows how seriously Warriors takes sickness running through his camp.
"Too weak, too lethargic."
"Rancher, they are recovering from massive injuries. Of course, they're extra tired."
"Legend barely sleeps through the night injured or not,” Twilight replies, sounding unconvinced, “but he's been in and out for almost two days."
"Blood loss, Rancher."
"Then what about Wild? Bruises and broken bones don’t equate to blood loss there. But he's just as weak-"
"He was just as weak. He's much better now and he'd be horrified to hear you call him that."
The sound of Twilight's teeth snapping shut is audible. "I didn't mean it like that!" came the growled reply.
A low chuckle responds, "I know, I know."
“He insisted on watching over Time in case he woke up, but did you see him afterward? He helped Time get a single drink and then had to sit and rest. Wild. Sitting still voluntarily! The both of them out at the same time is just….” The anxiety in Twilight’s voice made Time feel guilty like he was peering into fears Twilight hadn’t permitted him to see.
Warriors says, “Do you think I want them to be hurt?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Good. I don’t want it to happen. But sometimes it does. All we can do is take care of them afterward. It’s a cycle of loss and regrowth, but we can manage,” he whispers intensely. “We can survive this.”
There’s a pause, then, "I don't know that I ever thanked you. When he fell. You jumped down after Wild faster than anyone."
Time could supply the rest of Twilight's thoughts. ‘Faster than me.’
Twilight continues, "And then you carried him all the way back up the mountain path." Time hears a quick shuddering breath. "The whole time you were gone I kept imagining-" his voice cuts off abruptly.
Time remembers. He remembers the relief of seeing Warriors crest the ridge, Wild tucked carefully in his arms. He remembers how Warriors had laughed off their panic, doing his best to put them all at ease. He remembers Warriors teasing them about being old mother cuccos, shooing them away from Wild so they wouldn't wake him and aggravate the pulled muscle in his neck that the defective potions couldn’t seem to touch. He'd been so attentive and careful to keep ice chu jelly on the bandages, changing them out himself. Time had been proud of how Warriors had practically adopted all the boys, acting almost apologetic as he’d looked after them all.
Everything Warriors did was for the good of the group. Time clings to that.
There’s a shuffling of feet in leaves and Warriors says, "You're a good man, Twilight. You care about others and you protect them.” Warriors’ voice drops low and Time strains to hear more. “All I ask is that you let me help this time.” There’s a shuffle, perhaps the sound of Warriors clapping Twilight’s shoulder, and he says in a much more lighthearted tone, “No need to wake everyone for a few Bokoblins.”
There is a moment of silence where Twilight doesn’t answer.
Surely not, Time thinks. Twilight has sharp senses. He’ll realize something isn’t right here.
“…Unless you think Wild would be willing to sit out for the fight in the morning?”
There’s a snort of derision and the sound of footsteps trailing away from the campsite.
They’re leaving. Time couldn’t put into words why the realization filled him with dread. He didn’t know what he suspected, if anything, but there was a warning screaming in his head that bad was going to happen.
I have to follow them. I need more information. He rolls carefully to the side, shivering as his blanket is left behind and exposes him to the chill night air. Legend, toss-and-turn-through-the-night, and lightest-sleeper-of-them-all Legend doesn’t even twitch. Time plants his hands flat on the ground and carefully lifts himself to his knees. A wave of dizziness hits him but he holds steady until it passes. And it would pass. He would wait it out and make it to his feet. Precious minutes tick by until Time feels steady enough to rise. He does so slowly, hating how wobbly his legs feel, but he’s up. He allows himself one small triumphant grin before he takes his first careful step forward.
He falls.
“Time!”
The half-whisper half-yell startles Time and he whips his head around from his undignified sprawl on the ground. Four scuttles over to him, leaving a hastily abandoned bedroll behind.
“What happened? Why are you on the ground?”
“Nothing happened. That’s rather the point,” Time grumbles, breathing much too hard for a man who had only attempted to get out of bed.
Four gives him a narrow-eyed look. “I guess the better question is ‘Why are you getting up unassisted in the middle of the night?’”
And what can he say to that? ‘I got up to eavesdrop on our mutual companions?’ ‘I went to stop a foolish risk?’ ‘I have a bad feeling?’
Four waits patiently.
“I hardly know myself.”
Four does not look reassured. “Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“Well, let’s at least get you back to bed.”
Time thankfully (or shamefully) is only a few steps away from his bedroll so Four manages easily enough to support Time’s awkward crawl back. He’s shivering uncontrollably now and Four tugs on the blanket, trying to tuck it in snuggly around him.
“I’m all right now. Don’t fuss.”
Once again Four pins him with a look that conveys his disapproval more than words could, before grabbing a spare cloak from someone’s bag and layering that over Time as well.
Time is hit with the urge to laugh at the image Four presents. The littlest of all the heroes but with such a solemn, world-weary look. But Four has seen the world, Time reminds himself. He is an ally, not a child to be protected. He repeats that fact often, especially with Wind. Sharing a burden is not something that comes naturally to him, Malon of all people could attest to that, but he’s learning. He’s trying.
Perhaps tonight he should try harder. “I’m worried about Twilight and Warriors.”
“Oh?” Four’s gaze flicks over the camp. “They’re on watch tonight. I assume they’re scouting now?”
“Yes. But I-“ The words are hard to get out, sounding even more foolish spoken aloud, “I have a bad feeling.”
“You feel worse?”
“No.” He grits his teeth and then glares up at the stars, pointedly ignoring the pale face of the moon grinning back at him. Anxiety twists up inside him, warning him that something was coming that he wasn’t ready for. It’s old paranoia. Don’t let it control you. You have no proof of anything.
“You really need to rest, Time.” Four pats Time’s leg as the older man forces his body to relax. “The fight today was brutal. Honestly, I’d be more surprised if one of you didn’t come back injured after Warriors had you two pull away from us like that.” Four rubs his face tiredly. “I know he’s trying out new strategies, but I don’t see the benefit of isolating a few fighters from the group after we’re already engaged in combat.”
“Wait, he-“ An icy knot forms in Time’s stomach as he tries to recall details of how he was shot. “He did that intentionally?”
Sticks snap and crunch underfoot as Warriors himself walks back into the clearing, drawing their attention. The sight that greets them has Time going rigid with shock. Twilight is slumped against Warriors’ side, an arm slung over Warriors’ shoulder, head hanging limply to his chest.
No. Not him. It’s now a horribly familiar sight, another injured boy brought back to camp. Hurting. Unconscious. Cursed, Time thinks. Perhaps we’re all cursed in the moonlight.
"What happened?!" Four calls, rushing over, but Warriors holds out a hand.
“No! Stay back!"
Four jerks back in confusion, gaze bouncing between Twilight, deadweight against Warriors’ side, and Warriors, who holds him upright easily.
Time’s heart races and the shrieking warning in his mind reaches a crescendo. He dares not make a sound.
"You were right, Four," Warriors says earnestly, eyes glittering black in the moonlight. "Twilight told me. There must be a sickness going around.”
“What’s wrong with Twilight?“
“He collapsed.” Warriors lays Twilight gently down, careful not to jostle his head. Even from a distance, Time can hear Twilight’s labored breathing. “Must’ve been hiding how sick he was feeling. Typical Rancher.” Warriors shakes his head and holds a warning finger up to Four. “You must have sensed it before anyone else.” Then he smiles admiringly. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised. You've always been the clever one. But now we should take care to spread out and keep the sick quarantined from the healthy."
It makes sense. It sounds logical. Time wants to argue against it. But he lies still and doesn’t open his mouth. Warriors seems to not have noticed him and that feels like the only good luck he’s had since the last portal brought them to this cursed land.
"But-"
Warriors snaps, "Please, Four, we need some of us to stay healthy. We're defenseless if everyone is sick at once!” The fierce look is turned off in an instant, replaced with the former pleading and gentle manner. He places a hand on Twilight’s chest without breaking eye contact with Four. “I'll look after him, you know I will, but I need you to guard the others and keep them from getting too close and infected. Will you help me?"
Don’t do it. Time wants to scream but he can’t articulate why. He won’t imagine why. The only thing that would make sense of this is if Warriors wanted them to be hurt. But he couldn’t. He didn’t.
Four nods. "Of course."
Warriors smiles back, and to Time it seems a sinister thing.
But the nights of the full moon always set him on edge like this. They made him paranoid, seeing shadows in the dark, making his heart race. Yes, that must be it. Not my brother’s fault, Time thinks. Not the captain. Everything Warriors did was for the good of the group.
Time tells himself this, but finds it harder to believe it.
He digs his fingers into the dirt on either side, fearful of the world lurching around him, tossing him into the night sky and into the maw of the cruel moon. He holds on and prays for daybreak when everything will make sense again. He can’t trust himself at night. Old paranoia. Yes, that was it.
The moonlight incites accidents that should never have happened. It paints the face of his brother into hard panes and a harsher smile.
It glints on white teeth, making them seem unnaturally long in the moonlight.
3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)
@a-little-bit-of-ravioli Rav. I blame you for what I have done. This was supposed to be the answer to your last question. (From this post.) It was supposed to be a fun little break. A chance to share a special scene from a fic I might never get to write because of so many other WIPs that come before it. BUT it was too much fun. I could not stop. So please enjoy my little indulgence of 4600 words of Sky Angst, from my maybe someday fic: “Silent Realms Rescue.”
(Context: Sky has been separated from the other Links in an eerily empty town. Over the past few days, he's been finding their bodies, alive but unconscious. Unbeknownst to him, the invisible spirits of the ones Sky has found can move about freely, watching him, but unable to interact.)
~
Sky trudges up the stairs inside the abandoned inn, wooden steps creaking with every heavy footfall. His breathing is harsh in the otherwise silent building. He hoists Wild’s limp body a little higher on his back, the younger teen’s long hair spilling over Sky’s shoulder.
Down the dark hallway and to the first door on the left he walks, exhaustion and dread threatening to trip him up. But he nudges open the door without incident and slips inside. Red rimmed eyes flicker over every detail in the gloomy room, checking to make sure it is just as he left it. Would that be so bad, Sky wonders, to see some sign of life beyond myself? He almost hopes to see his things disturbed, but no, packs and bags are still stowed around the single chair by the window. Spare blankets pilfered from surrounding rooms remain stacked on the single bed's tiny side table.
And, just as Sky left them, the bodies of his friends lay about the room. They wait for him, eerily still: Four and Wind, side-by-side on the bed, and Legend and Warriors, carefully arranged on bedrolls on the floor.
Sky holds his breath for a moment, gathering himself and catching the whisper-quiet huff of air from Wind. The other three make no perceivable noise. Sky breathes out and moves, stepping calmly and carefully, mindful of Wild’s arms thumping limply against Sky’s chest with every motion.
A stiffness settles over Sky’s features as he restarts his now-familiar routine. Lay them down. He sets a bedroll on the floor next to the wall, leaving space to walk between here and Warriors, before rolling Wild off his back and onto the soft surface. Check for life signs. He places two fingers at Wild’s neck, waiting with robotic calmness. The steady pulse pushes back against his fingers, strong despite Wild's slack features. Don’t let them go cold. Wild’s skin feels warm against Sky's fingertips so he leaves him be.
Next body.
Sky turns to Warriors, face blank. Check for life signs. His fingers reach out to the pulse point. It’s a touch weaker, but steady. Don’t let them go cold. The skin is cool, but not worryingly so.
Next one.
Legend looks small next to Warriors, face oddly peaceful in a way only sleep can bring. Sky is grateful for that, at least. No one is in pain. Not that he can tell, anyway. If they were-
Stop that. Check for life signs. Finding the pulse takes longer, but it's there. Legend's hands are cold, but Sky chalks that up to all the metal wrapped around Legend's fingers. He debates taking the numerous rings off but doesn't move to do so. Some of them are protective, right? What if they're helping to keep him- Sky cuts off his thoughts again. He dredges up that empty floating feeling he holds deep inside, like a dispassionate mask that seals up all the cracks where panic or fear might bleed out of him.
Don’t let them go cold. He manipulates Legend's hands until they overlap right over his chest. The position strikes him as oddly familiar until his mind makes the connection. It’s how they set the bodies for a funeral back on Skyloft. Sky yanks a blanket over the body to cover those hands, holding the scratchy material in place until his own hands stop trembling.
Next one. Don’t stop. You mustn't stop.
Wind's turn. The sailor's skin is pale. Sky pulls over an extra blanket even before he places a hand on Wind's neck. The answering pulse is weak, and Sky doesn't linger on that thought for long. Wind is alive. Sky can see the slow rise and fall of Wind's chest, reliable as the tide. He tucks the blanket tightly around Wind's shoulders. Wind is a fighter. He wouldn't leave Sky. He and Four both. The two of them are in their own league of stubbornness. If they were here they'd-
Sky takes a quick breath, in and out. One body left and then Sky can sleep. He needs to rest or he'll be useless to the ones still missing. He can't take another night where his emotions take control and spiral his mind into endless "what ifs." He can feel it, waiting at the edge of his numbness: a black tornado of anxiety and self-loathing and sorrow that will suck him down until he's sick with fear. Not tonight. He has to be better than himself. He has to be like Time, stone-faced and unflinching in battle. He has to be like Warriors, able to switch off his emotions at a single word and accomplish any task with terrifying efficiency.
One more. Check for life signs.
He sways a bit as he makes his way to Four's side of the bed. The pulse is hard to find, but Sky is patient. He waits and adjusts his fingers. This body was the first one I found. It’s been here the longest. It makes sense that it would be the worst off.
Sky adjusts his fingers again. This body is so small, maybe that's why Sky is struggling to feel the pulse. He waits, then puts his other hand on the thin wrist, checking there. It's fine. Just be patient.
He waits, hands growing cold. Sky pulls back and rubs his hands together. It's cold. It's just so cold in here it's hard to feel anything. He returns his fingers to Four's- to the neck it’s not your friend it’s just a body-, pressing just a bit harder. It was fine just a few hours ago. I checked before I left. I…I checked them all.
He waits. Sky's hand starts to tremble again. Stupid, he thinks, how can you feel a pulse shaking like that? He yanks his hand away, eyes scanning for any minute movement. Beside this body, the sailor’s quiet breathing only heightens the contrast in stillness. The barrier in Sky’s mind holding the numbness in place cracks a bit.
Sky lurches forward and presses his ear against the body's chest. He can't hear anything over the sudden thundering of his own heartbeat. Panic claws at the edges of Sky's mind but he won't, he can't give in to it. It’s cold. He's just cold… Sky rushes to the wall and fumbles for the packs, grabbing at Wild's and scattering things across the floor: weapons, a pair of boots, a hairbrush, a hand mirror….. As he goes to toss a large sword aside, it flickers to life at his touch, a soft orange glow blooming over the steel and immediately warming the air around it. Flameblade, Wild had called it. Sky runs back to lay it in-between the bodies on the bed, careful not to let it touch skin, but he can already feel heat radiating from it and that should be enough to fix this. To fix his friend. He’s fine. Four is fine he’s just cold and that's why Sky can't find a pulse. That's why Four’s heart isn't-
Sky chokes on a cry and forces it back down. Later. He can deal with himself later. Warriors wouldn't cry. He'd know what to do.
But Warriors is unconscious on the floor and it's all on Sky. His hands flutter uselessly over Four, tucking the blanket tighter around his legs, a quick check at the neck for the elusive heartbeat, rubbing slim arms to bring some warmth back to the extremities. He knows he should but he can’t think of Four as a nameless body anymore. This is his friend, perceptive and clever and kind. To strip that away slices into the very core of Sky and he hates that everything he’s tried is not enough. The storm he’s fought to keep at bay is looming over him, tugging at his insecurities and highlighting how woefully inadequate he is for this task. But he can’t stop trying. Giving up is unthinkable. But he’s running out of things to try.
Every movement from Sky echoes loudly in the room, his anxious footsteps, the rustle of his clothes, his harsh breathing. Why is he breathing so loudly? Sky's focus snaps to Four's face, the shadows cast by the window’s cold light painting his features blue.
Did he stop breathing while I was gone?
The thought passes through him before he can stop it and something inside him snaps. He scrambles backward. Away from Four and the stillness and the blue-tinged pallor of his skin. A harsh crack echoes in the room. Sky looks down, lifting his boot to see a small mirror underneath, broken into pieces. One of Wild's things that Sky carelessly scattered. Sky's splintered face looks back up at him from the mirror. It's not calm at all. Not the face of a man stoic and controlled in adversity like he desperately wished himself to be. It looked like the face of a boy, scared and small, trapped in a room with a corpse.
~~~
What is the point of being a ghost, Four thinks, with nothing to haunt? His body appears luminescent in the growing darkness despite not casting any light on the road beneath him. He can’t feel the wind, though he knows it’s there, catching the edge of a rotted window shutter in a nearby house and slamming it shut. Four holds up a hand and marvels for a moment at his ability to perceive his skin and yet see right through himself to the rickety inn beyond. He walks- (Am I really walking if my feet aren’t leaving any impressions on the ground?) -to the meeting place, spotting the blue-green glow of another spirit waiting for him at the main entrance. Warriors stands there, tall and alert, looking for all the world like he’s guarding the doorway behind him despite not being able to halt the progress of a fly.
The captain nods as Four draws near. “Find anything?”
“Nothing of note. Not yet, anyway. Hey Wars, would you say we walk in this form or glide?”
Warriors raises an eyebrow. “Is that important?”
“Yes.”
Wind’s voice breaks in as the sailor himself skids around the corner. “We glide! Did you see that, Four? I definitely think that was a glide when I stopped.”
“No,” Warriors says, “you had a running start. You’d do the same thing with your normal body.”
“No way! I’m a ghost and did the ghost-glide thing.”
“Slide.”
“Glide!”
Warriors shoots Four a dark look. “How is this important again?”
Four examines his boots, pressing into the dirt, but also not. “I don’t feel like I glide at all, but my feet don’t quite touch either.”
Wind laughs and Four can feel a minor burst of triumph inside. They’re laughing and arguing like nothing is wrong, like they can forget for a moment that they are separated from their bodies with no clue how to reattach themselves.
Wild, Four thinks, would want to see what happened to his body, I suppose. But he’d do more good with us. He wants to ask what Legend's excuse is, why he isn't out here helping, but he bites his tongue.
But Warriors answers the unasked question, looking at no one in particular, “Legend didn’t want to leave Sky alone."
Four narrows his eyes. The longer they've traveled together, Warriors' irritating ability to read people like a book has only heightened. But surely my irritation wasn’t that noticeable. I’m perfectly calm. Regardless of what Legend thinks he’s doing, Sky is alone. No number of spirits hovering about him would change the fact that Sky could see nothing, feel nothing, other than the chill of an empty room. Legend was being useless and sentimental.
Wind and Warriors make their way inside the inn. Toward the room where Sky toils, too quiet and too solemn and there’s something about that room that is just too much for Four. He remains in the street and Wind pauses to cast him a curious look. “You coming, Four?”
There's a burn in Four's chest, a searing heat to rival his forge that intensifies the closer they get to this stupid run-down inn. He'd give anything to turn back around and keep searching the town for clues.
A crash echoes from deep within the inn. The three of them jolt at the sound before they all break into a run, through the splintered double doors, past the front desk, back to the staircase. They should clatter up the stairs, three bodies bumping into each other and stomping on creaking wooden steps, but only the faintest rustle of air marks their passage as they barrel upwards. Down the hallway and to the first door on the left they race. The closed door gives none of them pause as they pass through, three ghostly specters slipping through the wood as they would pass through water.
On the other side, they find Sky tending to their bodies, their real bodies, as he always did before tending to himself. The orange glow of a flame blade illuminates Sky's pinched expression as he bends over the bodies of Four and Wind.
Four looks away, immediately catching the glow of Wild standing amidst a scatter of items across the floor, arms wrapped around himself. Legend’s semi-transparent form nods tersely to the group and Four can see the tightly contained fury building behind the veteran's eyes.
“Who made this mess?” Wind pipes up. “Did someone come in while we were away?”
“No,” Legend replies.
Four wonders how one word can sound so irritated.
“So…” Wind picks his way across the room, careful not to step on anything despite having feet that passed through most objects. “Sky did this?” Wind pokes at Wild, smiling brightly. “What’d ye do to tick him off, Wild?”
Wild doesn’t respond but Four can see the way his grip on his arms tightens, Wind’s forced levity missing the mark.
Warriors passes the both of them, pausing only to give Wind a gentle pat on the back. “Status report, Vet?”
Legend glares back. “A report? On how Sky looks like he’s gonna pass out? Or how he still hasn’t taken the time to eat anything today?” Legend’s voice rises in intensity as Warriors cooly faces him down. “Oh! How about how utterly useless we all are? You want the full report on that?!”
Warriors nods as if Legend just gave him exactly what he wanted. “Understood. So leave Sky be then.”
Legend’s mouth falls open.
“If there’s nothing you can do-”
“You-” Legend’s form flickers to translucent and then the green glow flares. “Just shut up!”
Four holds back, not fully stepping into the group. He agrees with Warriors but…. He watches Sky pull another blanket over the Four lying on the bed, meticulously tucking it around his legs. His stomach twists and he has to look away again.
“There’s no benefit to always staying at his elbow.” Warriors continues. “Leave him.”
Legend’s fist swings out toward Warriors’ face. Warriors jerks back, but he’s too slow. Legend’s fist connects …then passes right through, Warriors’ blue outline fizzing before reforming the familiar planes of his face. It’s hard to tell who looks more shocked.
Legend recovers first. “What do you know? I’m not-” He looks over at Sky as a deep worry paints over his expression. “I’m not gonna leave him alone.”
I hate this. Being here made everything feel muddled. He's relieved and irritated because Legend is being useless and Four knows that. So why does he feel relief at Legend’s stubbornness… and feel like he himself is the coward?
Warriors steps slowly up beside Legend, shoulder to shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, smiling at Legend’s surprised expression. “We’ll take it in shifts.”
Legend huffs out a breath. “You moron.” But he doesn’t step away.
Four wants to scream. It would make no difference to Sky if they stayed. They couldn't help him. Was he the only one with sense? The room seemed smaller than Four remembered. He should go.
“Wars!” Wild calls out. “Something’s wrong!” Wild hasn’t moved from his position, still holding himself despite Wind’s attempts to relax him, but all his attention is now on Sky.
Sky’s breaths whistle in and out much too quickly, his chest heaving as his movements become more frantic.
“What’s wrong?” Wild says. Four hates how clearly he can see the panic rise in Wild’s face. He’d seen many times that Wild never coped very well with anyone other than him being hurt.
Legend crowds around the bed with Warriors at his side. “Something going on with Four?”
Anxiety lurches in Four’s chest but he ignores it for now. There’s nothing they can do in the physical world. It’s all up to Sky. And despite everything going on, if there’s anyone I trust to watch out for everyone, it’s Sky.
Warriors reaches out to check Four’s body, his real body, growling in frustration when his hand simply passes through his target. “Four!" He looks up to the Four still hanging back in the doorway. "Are you alright? Do you feel anything?”
Sky stumbles away from the table with a gasp, face blanching white. A loud crack makes everyone jump.
A mirror. Cracked under Sky’s heel. Four’s heart gives a painful thud and he closes his eyes. Just for a moment.
“What is he doing?!” Wind’s cry draws his attention back to the bed. To Sky jerking to his feet, a piece of broken mirror in his hand, lunging toward Four’s unconscious body.
Multiple shouts fill the room as the jagged edge sails for his face, all of them rushing forward. The shard stops right under the body’s nose. They can only watch, specters crowded around the scene, as Sky holds still and waits, all his attention on the mirror.
Understanding hits Four as he sees a faint fogging bloom over the mirror. “He’s checking if I’m breathing,” he says numbly. The words leave his own lips but it feels like someone else is saying them. How odd. At this moment, everything feels odd. Like watching his body lie so still before him. Like watching his friend stretch himself thin with worry and not feeling more than muffled alarm in response.
But that’s good. Four doesn’t have time to be alarmed. He's going to use his brain to help Sky. He's going to figure out the puzzle and be useful and not fall apart.
He holds onto that strangeness, that curiosity, with all he has. It’s better than becoming overwhelmed with frustration like Legend or pulled into fear like Wild. He has to stay calm so he doesn’t go mad. He-
With a soft clink, the mirror shard is laid aside on the table and Sky seems to wilt in relief. His head dips down to carefully rest on Four’s chest.
The five spirits look around at each other, expressions various forms of tense.
“Well,” Wind breaks the stare-off with a forced smile, “that was exciting! But everything’s under control now.”
Wild, voice tight and hoarse, whispers, “He thinks we’re dying.”
“No one is dying.” Legend snaps.
“We’re not waking up,” Wild says. “Our bodies are getting worse and we’re not waking up. H-how long do you think we’ll sleep?”
“It was just a mistake. See? Four’s okay.”
Standing so close, Four can see the details he didn’t want to see before. How Sky has a corner of Four’s tunic fisted in one hand. How deep the dark circles appear under Sky’s eyes. How Sky is trembling.
“Wake up,” Sky whispers, despair written into every line of his bowed figure.
All eyes flicker to Four, the one standing right by Sky’s side. Four feels the irrational urge to throw a punch of his own. ‘Help him!’ is the chant in his heart. ‘How?’ is the answer from his mind. Because he already knows they are useless here with Sky. “We should go,” he says.
“But we just got back!” Wind says.
Four backs away from the bed. “We should be looking for a… for something.” There’s a heavy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach the longer he stares at Sky.
“We’ve already searched the town for hours today.” Warriors’ tone has turned careful again. Four has heard that neutral tone far too many times over the past two days and he’s utterly sick of it. “There’s nothing new that wasn’t there yesterday.”
“There is something. We just haven’t seen it,” Four replies. Sky still hasn’t moved. There’s a weight on Four’s chest like he can feel Sky’s head pressing down on him.
“The mind still needs rest. We’ll take a break and come up with a plan in the morning.”
Stay here all night? Four’s already shaking his head. “No. We should leave. We have to find it.”
Warriors finally looks irritated. “Find what? There’s nothing out there to-”
The calm holding Four together shatters. “The clue! The puzzle!” He’s shouting now. He doesn’t mean to but icy rage grips him fully. “The Din-cursed, glowing something that’ll tell me I’m on the right path! I can’t stay here and watch-” Sense returns to him and snaps his mouth shut. But it’s too late, Warriors is looking at him with that horrible, gentle understanding and Four wants to channel Legend and punch him too.
Sky finally rises and walks unsteadily toward the door.
Warriors nods, “Go ahead. I’ve got him.” He takes up position behind Sky like a sentinel and they slip away into the hallway, Sky unnervingly silent as closes the door behind him with a soft click.
It should be easy to walk away now. To linger and watch Sky suffer is nothing but torturous. But to leave… to leave now is cowardly. And Four is no coward.
He grits his teeth and follows after Warriors, passing easily through the wooden door. “Hey, Captain!”
Warriors pauses in the half gloom ahead, ghostly scarf flaring out behind him like it was undulating in the water. How is it he makes being half-dead look cool? How irritating. He focuses on that instead of the foolish mistake he’s making. “I’ve got Sky.”
Warriors tips his head to the side. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve got him.” Four rubs at the embroidery over the blue patch of his tunic. Unfortunate that he lost his temper. Now he has to prove himself reliable again. “You should go check on Wild.”
“You think so?” Warriors doesn't look convinced.
“He could use some help.” Go butt your nose in there and stop overanalyzing me out here.
Warriors finally nods and steps away. “If you’re sure,” he repeats. Then he’s gone, leaving Four with Sky’s retreating back in the hall.
Four falls into step easily behind Sky’s slow pace. For a moment, he could imagine that nothing was wrong. That this was another day at any other inn and he was herding Sky to bed before he passed out on the floor. Sky was easy to talk to. Four never felt like he had to overthink every word or play mental gymnastics to be understood. Sky listened, earnestly and enthusiastically, even if he didn’t understand blacksmithing techniques or the names of all the local plants in Four’s Hyrule. And Four listened in turn, fascinated and with a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue as Sky talked about wingspans and air currents and old songs rediscovered. Words would flow between them one moment and would stop just as easily.
That was how they worked, Four and Sky.
But the silence between them was never heavy. Not like this. But I’m not here, am I? Not by Sky’s understanding. Again the puzzle teased him. There has to be a way to communicate with Sky. Why else would whatever is responsible for this predicament give Sky their bodies but let their spirits roam free?
Four is pulled from his thoughts as Sky stops his trudging pace at the end of the hallway. Splintering doors loom on either side of them but Sky pays them no mind. The dingy window they passed a few moments ago does it's best to illuminate, but the light doesn't quite reach Sky. He stands alone in the near darkness and unease twists up inside Four the longer they linger. What’s going on? Why did we come here, Sky?
As if in answer, Sky twists to the side and slams a fist into the wall.
Four jerks back. “Sky?!”
His gentle friend draws back and punches again, fist hitting the aging boards with a crack. Then Sky screams, rage and hopelessness and exhaustion blending together in the ugly sound. He hits the wall again and again, wood buckling under his knuckles.
“Sky! Stop!” Four jumps forward and throws out on arm. Sky’s fist passes through, blue light fizzing out of place and then reforming Four’s arm. Sky's burst of violence is fleeting; he sinks to his knees, fingers clawing at his hair as he gasps and then clamps his lips shut to stop the sounds.
No no no what do I do- Four crouches by Sky's side. He wraps an arm around Sky’s shoulders but cries out as his limb scatters into light, giving him the sensation of gentle bubbles popping along the skin.
Sky rocks back and forth on his knees, eyes screwed shut tight.
“Come on, now. Please don’t do this.” Four tries to pull at Sky’s fingers, to untwist them from his hair. He knows exactly what will happen before he tries but he can’t stop himself. His fingers fizz away and won’t reform until he draws back. An angry voice in his head snarls out the truth that burns worse than any wound: “He can't hear you! He can't feel you! You can't help him at all!" He wants to run. Beg Warriors to take back his place so Four can get away.
Four fights down that voice and narrows all his attention on Sky. He lifts one transparent hand and carefully, carefully hovers it on top of Sky's bowed head. "You're okay." Four says, words firm and clear. "Everything will be okay. I know you're doing your best. Don't hate yourself over this. We’ll figure this out together."
Sky’s hold on his hair loosens. He looks up, face blotchy and red from holding back. His eyes stare right through Four.
Four wills Sky to see something other than an empty hallway, to feel a presence in the silence. Your friends are here, Sky, he thinks with all the conviction in his heart. You're not alone.
Sky's arms wrap around himself, blood trickling over split knuckles. He takes in a deep shuddering breath, and his gaze seems to actually focus on Four's face.
"Shhh," Four whispers, the tiniest of irrational hopes threading into his voice. "It's okay." Heart thudding, he dares to ask, "Sky? Can you see me?"
Sky's face crumples and he begins to cry.
The sobs are loud and frantic, grief finally spilling out openly in the dark, and Four fights not to crumble along with his friend. He scrambles for the part of himself that he knows to be rational and smart and useful, but the only thing that part of him is saying is that he knows why Sky is crying.
He cries like someone who has realized they are truly, utterly alone.
I'm gonna ask for a Wolfcry snippet and I'm not afraid to do it full knowing it will expose how obsessed I am with the concept still
(In response to the “WIP Meme” game, where I promised every ask about a WIP gets YOU a snippet and makes ME do a 15min writing sprint for it.)
Rav, it fills me with so much joy to know you are still cheering for this story. Of course, you may have a snippet. In fact, I am incapable of writing snippets. Have a big 'ol chunk of a Twilight and Wind scene.
[Wolfcry Synopsis: Twilight overuses his wolf form to avoid emotional situations. What good will crying do anyway? It doesn’t fix things. It only generates relief, catharsis, a signal to others that you need help, embarrassment. But wolves can’t cry. And before long, neither can Twilight.]
~~~
“Wolfie?”
Twilight freezes.
Wind is staring up at him, eyes suspiciously glossy in the firelight. The sailor worms a hand out of his blanket and gives a little wave. “It’s nice to see you hanging around,” he whispers, careful not to wake the others. “If you’re looking for Wild he’s two people down.” Wind points out the direction.
Twilight doesn’t move. He wants so badly to help. Is there no way to make things right?
Wind looks confused. “Do you- are you not checking on Wild? I thought you were his wolf?”
Twilight snorts at that.
Wind smiles. It’s a bit shaky but Twilight’s heart warms at the sight. He takes an unconscious step closer to Wind.
The boy’s face shifts, a hopeful expression lightening his features. “Would you…like to stay with me for a bit? If you want?”
And what else can Twilight do in response to that? He settles himself next to Wind, careful not to force direct contact with the sailor if he doesn’t want-
Wind presses himself fully against Twilight’s side, a sigh of relief whispering out of him. Fingers press into the thick fur at Twilight’s neck and rest there, not petting him, but holding on. They both lay still, the minutes passing by as the dying fire crackles. Twilight almost believes that Wind is drifting to sleep when he hears the whispered words.
“I hate this.”
Twilight keeps his body still and his breathing steady, but his ears prick forward to catch every sound.
Wind continues, his voice low and harsh. “I’ve fought plenty of monsters. I’ve gotten hurt dozens of times. I’m not afraid.” Wind’s free hand, the one not still buried in Twilight’s fur, curls into a fist. “But I…”
Twilight’s heart sinks.
“I close my eyes and it’s right above me.”
He had wanted so badly to believe he had made things right. That Wind truly was fine. But that had been a selfish wish and this was his punishment.
“There’s no time to react. There’s no time for anything and I hate it.” Wind’s voice hitches at the final word and he presses his face into his sleeve.
He wants so badly to say something, but Wind’s shoulders are shaking and neither of them makes a sound. If Twilight were human he could have done many things. Like pull Wind into the tightest hug he could manage. Like bend down close and promise to watch over him properly, the way he should have done in the first place. Like tell Wind that he was strong and brave and that the tears he now cried did nothing to diminish that.
Like whisper that he was sorry. Please believe me, Wind, I’m so sorry. I’m trying to make things right.
Wind finally sits up on one elbow, wiping roughly at his eyes. “This is stupid! Sorry, Wolfie, you don’t have to listen to me.” A guilty look passes over his face and he glances around the campsite before letting out a little sigh. His next words are low and conspiratorial. “At least Twilight is still taking a round in the trees. I don’t want him to know.”
Unease squirms in Twilight’s belly. His desire to help wars with the knowledge that he is being sneaky, however unintentionally. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have heard this. Should I leave him alone?
Wind is still whispering to the wolf, unaware of the secrets he is spilling, head tilted close. “I just can’t say this stuff to him… or the others. It’s hard enough getting them to treat me like an equal.” He takes a deep, calming breath. “I’m okay now.”
Twilight gives him a level look.
Wing glares back and hisses lowly, “What? There’s no way I could ask one of them to stay with me at night. They’d freak!” Wind’s cheeks flush. “Plus, that’s super embarrassing!”
Twilight hesitates, caught up in the new found knowledge and the underhanded way he had gotten it.
Wind turns his gaze out to the surrounding woods. The weak light of the fire barely penetrates the deep shadows. Wind’s breaths are deep and even, carefully controlled. But he has a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his bedroll, a wooden knife handle tucked mostly out of sight under the fabric.
The wolf huffs and lowers his head to the ground, making a show of getting comfortable.
Wind’s eyes snap back to Twilight and go wide. “Wait. You’re staying?”
Twilight doesn’t move.
“…all night?”
Death mountain would have been easier to budge.
Wind ducks his head down into his blanket, but not before Twilight catches the open relief shining from Wind’s face. The younger boy keeps his gaze down as he settles in again next to the wolf, not saying another word.
Soon, Wind drifts off to sleep. Twilight keeps watch. He keeps watch the way he should have done the night before: all senses alert, using what was given to him to the best of his abilities.
No attacks come that night. The only disturbances come from Wind himself. Three times the sailor jolts awake, his breathing harsh, his hands clawing out into the dark. Every time, his fingers sink into soft fur and hold on. Wind’s eyes lock onto the wolf’s and see him unmoved and on guard. Every time, Wind finds his trust in the wolf rewarded. He is being watched over. He is safe. And eventually, breaths evening out, he falls back asleep.
Twilight does not sleep. He watches the forest. He watches the changing of the night guard as the other heroes take up positions and silently observe the wolf in their midst. First Time, then Four, then Legend. Their gazes feel heavy and oppressive to Twilight, but they do not ask him to give up his vigil.
The night stretches on and still he watches. Despite the guardian at his side, Wind twitches and squirms through a troubled sleep.
Twilight did this. And it makes him want to scream. It makes him want to run until his muscles are burning and every breath brings searing pain. It makes him want to cry.
Little Brother??? (I was intriuged so I went and read it on Ao3 now, and it's really good!!!)
(In response to the “WIP Meme” game, where I promised every ask about a WIP gets YOU a snippet and makes ME do a 15min writing sprint for it. Asks are still welcome.)
Oh goodness, thank you for checking it out! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 is Wind injury-focused, but I actually have a good portion of Chapter 3 (Warriors-injury) written. I hope you don't mind a snippet from that.
["Little Brother" Synopsis: Centered on Time, Wind, and Warriors, this is a collection of moments in time when the youngest of them struggles.]
~~~
Warriors looks like he wants to argue with Time but another wave hits, bigger than the others and it plunges the both of them deep into the sea. It only takes a second for Time in his Zora form to drag them both back to the surface, but Warriors is still coughing up seawater when the next wave hits.
Down again they plunge. Up again Time swims, muscles beginning to ache anew with fatigue. They breach the surface just as rain breaks free from the sky, the storm truly upon them now. There’s a vicious crack of lightning overhead and the brief illumination only highlights the emptiness around them. Blackness presses in as the rain roars in their ears.
Adrift and lost, Time picks a direction and swims, towing Warriors behind him. To his credit, Warriors does his best to assist, but in minutes his swimming weakens. He clings to Time, chin tipped up out of the waves, stubbornly wringing out every last jerking kick that his body has left.
Time can only press on. His Zora form fights against the relentless waves, knowing how much smoother he would be beneath them. The wind pelts raindrops into exposed skin and every crash of lightning makes them both twitch. Time pulls Warriors along until Warriors is incapable of kicking alongside him, his body now wringing out useless shudders as his legs become deadweights.
Time swims for what feels like hours. The burn of muscle and bite of rain become nothing more than a monotonous cycle in his brain. Every once in a while he’ll call back, “Captain?” just to hear the labored answer:
“Still here.”
He wraps Warriors’ arms around his neck and pushes forward until he feels the constant dip of his friend’s head sliding toward the water. He flips them face up in the water, and drags Warriors, pale and near senseless, to that ever distant horizon.
“Captain?” Time calls.
“S-still here.”
On and on and on Time swims until the rain slackens, the wind calms, and they are left adrift under a black sky spangled with stars.
He looks up at those distant points of light and tries to trace a familiar pattern, one Malon whispered to him many years ago, cuddled up in a blanket on the roof of their house. He was safe then, wrapped tightly in that intangible feeling of home. He takes in a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. Releasing that longing and replacing it with determination. He’ll get back to that, to Malon, someday. He readjusts his hold on Warriors and distantly wonders when Warrrios stopped shaking. The ocean has long since leeched away all perceivable warmth, but surely-
Time’s shakes his head, alarm banishing the mental fog.
Warriors is no longer shaking.
“Captain?”
Warriors gives no response, face slack in the starlight.
“Captain!” Time gives Warriors a little shove. “Come on now.”
Warriors’ limbs drift on the currents, limp as a doll, his skin unnaturally pale against the black waters. Like Time has tethered himself to a ghost.
“Don’t.” Time forces a growl into his voice to disguise the terror crawling up his throat. He clutches at Warriors’ tunic and shoves him again. “No.” He looks back up at the sky. “Don’t you dare let him die. You sent him here! You sent us both!”
The stars stare back, unblinking, cold as the ocean depths.
Isn’t it worth a little suffering? 👀👀👀 I love that one :D
-Sky Floor
(In response to the “WIP Meme” game, where I promised every ask about a WIP gets YOU a snippet and makes ME do a 15min writing sprint for it. Asks are still welcome.)
Thanks for making me work on this one @skyward-floored ! This fic truly lives up to its name and makes me suffer. ;)
["Isn't It Worth a Little Suffering?" Synopsis: Warriors ('Link') and Mask clash over the use of the Fierce Diety mask in battle. But the Deity has plans of his own, and giving up the use of Mask's body isn't one of them.]
~~~
The soldier before him notes Link’s approach with a start. “Captian! Good morning!” He holds out a steaming bowl and smiles pleasantly.
A spark of familiarity hits Link and he fumbles for the man’s name. “Thank you…Corin.” Was that it?
The man’s smile wobbles and the bowl trembles slightly in his outstretched hand. “Y-you remember me, sir? Of course, you do. I… I shouldn’t be surprised…”
Alarm ringing through him, Link quickly accepts the food and notes the man’s bloodshot eyes and haggard appearance. “When did you last get some rest, Corin?” he asks gently.
Corin shakes his head, face twisting into an odd expression. Was it pained? Link couldn’t quite tell.
“Don’t waste your worry on me, Sir. I told them I could work today and I will.”
“I see.” Now that he’s looking for the signs, it’s clear that Corin is struggling to maintain his composure. As always, Link’s mind scrambled for a way to fix what was in front of him. But he couldn’t think of anything beyond the young soldier’s name. He had a vague recollection of being introduced to him by an older- Wait, his brother! He has an older brother! The two faces swim in Link’s mind but no name resurfaces for the older one. No matter. He’d keep his ear open. Maybe send word to Corin’s brother to check in on his sibling. Or at least keep Corin talking and perhaps he could piece together what he was missing. “Could I get a second bowl for Mask?”
Corin stiffens. “Your shadow isn’t with you this morning?”
“Still asleep.”
He grunts. “Worn out from the battle yesterday, no doubt. Lucky.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lucky that the Mask survived.”
Something about that phrasing rankles Link. The way some of the soldiers use Mask’s title like a designation for a thing instead of a nickname for a person.
Still, Link does his best to answer neutrally. “Yes, he’s quite skilled.”
Corin nods, gazing unfocused into the bubbling pot before him. “I guess that’s what sets the heroes apart from us regular sort. Even miniature ones.” He laughs, the sound weak and humorless. “You can have all the skills in the world, but the heroes are the ones to escape. Not men like me. Not men like my brother.”
An icy pit forms in Link’s stomach.
“They found him after the battle last night. Were able to identify the body. He can be buried, at least.”
His brother was a part of Mask’s unit. The men who- Link doesn’t know how to respond. He fumbles for the proper words but can only say, “I’m sorry for your loss. The people of Hyrule will remember his sacrifice and the lives he saved are no doubt a testament to his bravery.” The words seem shamefully hollow when Link couldn’t even remember the dead man’s name.
Corin nods jerkily. “They said he was still holding his spear. Fought til the end, I’m sure…” His grip on the ladle is so tight the knuckles are white.
“I’m sorry,” Link says again, remembering the field of bodies, monster and soldier alike strew about. Blood dripping from a double helix blade. A captain arriving too late to stop a god on a war path.
“I wish I knew what did him in,” Corrin says. “I’d have liked to tear the creature apart. But I guess it was taken care of in the end, right?” The man’s eyes bore into Link. “There was no one left but the little one?”
Link responds with lips gone numb, “Yes.”
Corin huffs out a shaky breath. “So be it.” He nods to himself and, on a sudden impulse, grabs the canteen hanging from his belt and raises it high. “The monster that killed my brother,” he growls out, “may he rot in the lowest reaches of Din’s dungeons.”
Link pulls his canteen free as well and bobs it briefly upward. “Yes… the monster that killed him.”
Corin clunks their drinks together and takes a quick gulp of his own before jerking an arm across his eyes. “My apologies for rambling on, Sir.”
Link startles to attention. “No, not at-”
“You’ll be waiting for that second bowl!” Corin hastily fills a bowl and hands it over. “For the little lucky one,” he says, the forced cheer casting an eerie chill over Link.
There’s nothing more to do but thank the man and step away, feeling he’d lingered too long and at the same time not stayed nearly long enough. Nothing he did ever seemed to be enough.
Yesssss! Enabled! But oh gosh how to pick. Gonna go with one I don’t think I’ve seen you talk about before? Four Split, please!
(In response to the “WIP Meme” game, where I promised every ask about a WIP gets YOU a snippet and makes ME do a 15min writing sprint for it.)
SIS. When I saw you ask about this one I did the evil cackle. (Thank you so much! 💙)
[Synopsis: Something happened to Sky. Something bad. But it's over now, everyone healed and everything dealt with. Four faced the aftermath days ago and he's fine.
It's a lie that he'll cling to until those ugly bottled-up emotions are smothered. Then it will be truth, and no one will ever know.]
~~~
"Hey Four,” Warriors says, “may I ask a favor?"
If Warriors asks him to prove that he's fine, Four is going to send someone hobbling back to Hyrule for some new kneecaps.
"Could you draw the Four Sword and split for me?"
Four actually staggers to a stop. "You… need me to split?"
Warriors stops too and spreads his hands wide. "Only if that's alright with you."
Four blinks, feeling a headache growing behind his temples as he notes Twilight has not moved on as well. This was about one of Warriors' elaborate strategies, wasn’t it? The captain liked to keep his mouth running along with his feet and now Four had probably tuned out the latest concoction. He really should ask Warriors to elaborate. He normally would. But today he could not find the patience to unravel what he’d missed.
It was probably important. And if it wasn't, Four didn't feel like arguing about it. He reaches for his blade and lets the power of the sword fissure through him, slipping into the cracks of his mind. It doesn’t hurt. Other than this most recent headache, his mind has been muffled and quiet, existing in a hazy fog of numbness. He can handle a few minutes of being split.
Then the Sword wrenches him apart. Four copies of himself stand before Warriors.
“Now,” Vio says, hands on hips, “what is this all about?”
Warriors’ eyes flick over Vio, Blue, and Green, coming to rest on Red. “Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” he says. “I just wanted to check over you.”
“Check us for what?” Blue’s voice is sharp as he steps half in front of Red. “You gonna start poking around too? I already suffered through Twilight and I’m not gonna put up with you too.”
Twilight makes a wordless noise of protest but Warriors’ focus is unbroken. He locks onto Red’s gaze over Blue’s shoulder. “I think you already know,” Warriors says, “that we value your intelligence, your courage, and your abilities. That is never in question. So please don’t take offense when I ask, one final time-”
Red steps back, hands reaching up to clap over his mouth.
“-are you-”
“Wars? Twi? What’s the hold up?” Sky’s voice breaks through as he jogs back toward the small group. “The others are all up ahead and we lost sight of y-” he breaks off as he takes in the six of them, attention bouncing between Warriors and Twilight facing the four Colors. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Green answers.
“Just talking,” Twilight says.
Blue glares. “We were done talking, actually.”
~~~
[Oh me. Oh my. I wonder what Four could be upset about? I'm sure it's nothing.]
Word count: 3,136
Fandom: Linked Universe
Characters: Time, Warriors, Wind
Warnings: Referenced Major Character Death
-Ao3 link-
With permission from the author, this is a direct continuation of @lyrabythelake's amazing, heartrending whumptober fill of "You have to let go"/Bound (Wind & Warriors). If you haven't read it yet, it is well worth your time.
---
Time hears the screaming first.
It sets his blood racing and for a moment he’s not sure if it’s someone in distress or a monster’s enraged shriek. His sword is in his hand and he’s already running. The sound continues, vicious and terrifying, and Time desperately hopes it is a monster for no human deserves to sound so broken.
His feet pound the narrow path winding up the mountain, the other heroes close on his heels. Dust and rocks crumble at the edges of his carelessly frantic pace. He rounds the bend and spies a figure hunched over on the ground. It’s rocking back and forth, hands clutched in yellow hair, still rending the air with that endless scream.
It takes him far longer than it should to recognize who it is.
Time stumbles forward, the air stolen from his lungs. There is no scenario, no possible timeline in existence, where finding the captain like this can be anything other than a tragedy.
“Warriors!” Twilight rushes past him and drops to a knee by Warriors’ side. “Where are you hurt?” Twilight’s hands tug at Warriors’ crumpled form, desperately looking for blood. He pulls at Warrior’s tunic and Time realizes the distinctive blue scarf is missing. The lack of it makes Warriors seem diminished, an essential piece of him gone. Time is unnerved by how young Warriors looks, sobbing with total abandon.
Warriors doesn’t react to Twilight, doesn’t seem to even know the rest of them are there. His keening stutters as he gasps for air, his whole form trembling.
Four tries to untwist Warriors fingers from his hair, murmuring gentle words. At Twilight’s bewildered look, Sky and Hyrule scan the surroundings, looking for clues. Sky heads to the cliff edge and begins to peer over the side.
“Don’t!” Warriors yells, voice cracking.
Time and Sky exchange a confused look.
“Why?” Sky asks, head tilted to the side.
Warriors face crumples. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. His eyes lock onto Time’s, begging for something.
The look is unsettling. It reminds Time of long ago battlefields. Of being smaller than he should be. Of watching a big brother stand alone in the eye of a storm of bodies, blood dripping from a sword he should never have been forced to carry. That red-soaked figure locked his terror away, buried it deep under smiles and smooth words and feet that never stopped moving so the fear could never catch him.
The figure now crumpled before Time is broken, terror and despair spilling out for all to see, and Time feels the same child-like desperation to fix it. Glue the pieces back together and pretend everything was fine in the first place.
“Wars.” Legend’s voice breaks into Time’s spiraling thoughts. Legend approaches Warriors hesitantly, like he sees a horrible truth the rest of them haven’t spotted yet. “Where’s Wind?”
A strangled whine issues from the captain.
Four jolts at the sound. He holds tighter to Warriors’ hands, keeping him from jerking away.
Warriors’ eyes are glazed, staring at nothing, and Time fears they are losing him. He has a trick he knows, though he feels manipulative using it now. But they need answers, and he knows the training Warriors will fall back on when his mind is overwhelmed.
Throwing as much authority into his voice as he can, Time says, “Eyes up, soldier."
Warriors’ eyes snap to Time.
“Good. Now tell me, when was the last time you saw Wind?”
Warriors' face blanches white. Then he throws himself away from Twilight and Four and vomits into the dirt.
Remorse washes over Time, but all he can do is crouch beside Warriors and rub a hand up and down his back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Warriors continues to gasp and dry-heave, his arms shaking badly. Twilight is a steady presence on his other side, arms already half-supporting Warriors’ weight. Twilight and Time share a look and the former shakes his head. They won’t get anything out of Warriors right now. And it’s cruel to keep trying.
They help him to his feet. Warriors stumbles, barely able to keep himself upright.
It’s Wild’s voice that breaks the unnerved silence from the others. He speaks softly, but insistently, the words drifting to anyone who will listen. “But we need to know what happened.” His eyes dart around the group, nervously pulling at a braid in his hair, one that Wind had done claiming he needed to practice for Aryll. “We have to find Wind.”
Time feels Warriors pull them to a stop. Warriors opens his mouth, but only a whine slips free before his teeth clack shut again. His gaze is caught by the cliffside. Time can’t see anything remarkable there, but Warriors’ breath picks up and he sways between Time and Twilight, tears still sluggishly dripping from his face,
Time leans in, ready to murmur any comforting thing he can think of. -‘Let’s just get you off your feet.’ ‘You need to rest.’ ‘It’ll be okay.’- even though he knows the words of one well-meaning person can never make some hurts ‘okay’. He leans in, but he pauses, words dying on his tongue.
There’s a struggle going on inside the captain’s mind, Time can read it in his face. Warriors teeters, on the precipice of some decision within himself.
A breeze whistles down the cliffside, playfully rustling their hair as it slips down the steep ledge to toy with whatever lies at the bottom.
Warriors takes a deep breath, then speaks. “He’s just over there.”
Twilight frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Then Time sees it: Warriors eyes, haunted and bloodshot, flicking to his own shaking hands then back to the edge of the cliff.
Time grabs Legend and hauls him close, shoving Warriors’ arm into Legend’s chest. “Hold him!”
“Hey!”
There’s no time to think. Too many seconds have been wasted already. Time sprints to the edge, hands already searching in his pouch.
There’s a blur of words and noises behind him. Questions he has no time to answer. Fear he has no time at assuage. His own blinding panic demands all his attention. Please, no. Let me be wrong.
Heart pounding, Time looks down to the base of the canyon, searching for horrors. He imagines a small broken body, blood haloing the rocks, a face forever etched in fear.
It’s none of those. Just a distant smear of color. Two shades of blue against the tan rocks below. If Wind fell from this height, there is no use to even hope.
Time wastes no seconds wishing for a miracle. He’s burned away too many already. Cool ceramic presses against his lips, his fingers snapping into place like a key fitting into a lock.
Time plays his ocarina, and the world blurs into a hurricane of smeared colors and garbled sounds.
The magic swirls inside him, feeding off his energy in a greedy pull that makes him lightheaded. It has been a long time since he’s possessed the ability to rewind three days worth of time. The power of the ocarina has faded; whatever Deity that touched the instrument has long since abandoned it, leaving the device to pull magic from the player himself.
Time knows he only has the strength for a scant few minutes. A handful of seconds to make a change. His fingers tremble on the last note of the Song of Time, and the world snaps back into focus.
The other boys surround him, keeping to their leisurely pace as they search for a safe path to reunite with the sailor and the captain.
“They shouldn’t be too far apart from us now.” Hyrule’s voice. The words are familiar in Time’s mind.
“No,” Time snaps, “No, it’s not far enough!” He breaks into a run, dropping his heavy sword. The others yell in surprise behind him. This isn’t far enough back in time! The seconds tick by in his brain, an inevitable countdown to a grisly conclusion.
Sweat trickles down his back as he rushes up the path he once walked in another time. Just hold on. He rushes higher. Wait for me. He pushes harder, lungs burning.
Time hears a voice before he rounds the next bend.
“I can’t hold on.” It's Warriors, voice high and strained.
Time flings himself around the corner, feet skidding on loose pebbles. He wastes a precious second orienting himself. A figure in green lies splayed over the edge of the cliffside ahead, arms straining.
“It’s okay.”
That’s Wind’s voice! He can't see the little hero but Time’s legs still go weak with relief. He’s not too late.
“It’s okay,” Wind calls softly, “you can let go. I forgive you.”
Warriors sucks in a ragged breath then lets his face go blank. Horror shoots through Time as Warriors’ hands pull up from the cliff, empty.
“No!” Time’s yell draws Warriors’ attention. They stare at one another, horrified anguish meeting numb shock for the span of one thudding heartbeat. Time knows it won’t last. He knows what is coming. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the breaking.
Time hears the screaming first.
It all plays out before him like a sick performance. The others arrive. They ask the same questions. When Legend asks, “Where’s Wind?” Time flinches but will not respond. He knows this song and dance and he refuses to take part.
He is counting down the seconds, gathering his strength until the moment he can try again.
Five seconds. He opens his eyes. Legend is the one by Warriors’ side this time, trying to catch his gaze. “Don’t,” Time hears Legend’s strained voice, “Don’t do that. I know that look.”
Two seconds. The ocarina is at his lips.
“Time?” It’s Twilight. Looking too young and too scared to be in charge of holding everyone together.
Time ignores him, ignores everything but the reservoir of magic sparking in his gut. There’s so little left.
Music bursts forth, hooking into him and pulling until he’s back in the nauseating hurricane, the seconds rewinding at a dizzying pace.
The world abruptly crashes back into place, the magic hitting that invisible barrier that won’t let him travel any further than this moment. He’s on the canyon path. The other boys are around him, chatting easily.
“They shouldn’t be too far apart from us now,” Hyrule says.
The words are like a gunshot in Time’s ears, a signal to run. He does, head pounding, the magic drain sending an ache through his bones with every heavy footfall.
This time he knows what he’s looking for. Time runs, reaching the end of the path and skidding around the corner, heaving for breath.
“I can’t hold on,” Warriors’ voice chokes out.
Wind answers shakily, “It’s okay.”
Time launches himself forward, scrabbling over rocks like a madman. “Wait! Wind, wait!”
“It’s-”
His hands plunge over the edge and twist into royal blue fabric. He clutches tight. Warriors, shoulder pressed against his, lets out a sobbing gasp of relief.
Wind looks up at them both, dangling from an arm awkwardly twisted in the scarf, but blessedly truly alive. Hope blooms across his features. “Time?!”
Time grins, adrenaline still pumping through him. “I’ve got you!” The countdown in his head stutters to a stop. I made it.
Time pulls and a ripping sound fills the air.
Wind yelps, the blue fabric above his shoulder torn halfway across, fraying against the jagged rocks.
Warriors shouts, “No! Don’t move!”
The tear widens, seams popping free with agonizing slowness.
Time doesn’t like the look on Wind’s face. It’s painted with a horrible understanding. Fear is wiped away in the face of sadness and regret.
“Wars,” Wind whispers, “It’s okay.”
“Wait!” Warriors’ voice is pitched high with panic, almost unrecognizable. “I promise I’ll get you out! Just-”
Wind closes his eyes. “I forgive you.”
The scarf rips in two, and the tension on Time’s arms is gone.
Sound is muffled. He can’t feel Warriors beside him, can’t think, can’t breathe. He just watches, detached, as Wind is reduced to a point of blue, falling too fast and yet too slow until it just-
Stops.
He floats in disbelief for five awful seconds.
Time hears the screaming first. But this is the third time it rips into his soul.
The countdown in his head stutters to life again, but he doesn’t know if he has the energy to make another trip back. Exhaustion drags at him, willing him to lie down and accept defeat. He can’t change anything. He’s just too slow.
Warriors breaks beside him, and the wrongness of that claws into Time’s skin. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again. The sound of worried voices breaks over him like a wave. The others have arrived, just as useless and helpless as himself.
“Time?”
A brightly colored tunic hovers before him. Four’s hands twist in the embroidered edges, a nervous habit that Warriors had pointed out but Four has yet to abandon. “Wars needs help.”
He tried to help. He was fast enough and it still didn’t matter.
“Tell me what I should do,” Four says.
He doesn’t have the strength, and what he does have will surely be stolen from him.
“Time?” Four’s gaze, normally so sharp and perceptive, looks frightened. “...Will you do nothing?”
Time’s hands tremor over the ocarina. It will bring nothing but failure. Just another goodbye, another scream, another broken hero left behind to serve an unfeeling deity.
But he knows he will try anyway. He must try. Anger flares deep in his gut. If he only has dregs of strength left to fuel the magic, he will make it be enough.
Time stands. Five seconds.
He can’t bring himself to touch Warriors; to offer any sort of comfort would be to acknowledge Wind is... to acknowledge what happened. And it didn’t- even though it already has- but he won’t let it. Two seconds.
He drags the ocarina to his lips. His limbs feel sluggish already. Will he even have the strength to run here in time, much less make a difference?
Time pushes the question away and plays. The melody spins around him, siphoning the last of his magic from his bones, squeezing it out of his soul. His breath rattles in and out of his chest as he plays the final note.
He hits the ground hard, weakness fluttering around him like a poe.
“-dn’t be too far apart from us now,” Hyrule says.
Those are the words. That’s the cue! He needs to run! Time lurches to his feet and immediately crashes back down, dizziness pricking at his vision. No!
“Whoa!” Sky is perched above him, offering a hand. “Are you al-”
Time grabs the hand and pulls hard. Once he’s up the dizziness passes. But it’s too late. He’s wasted so much time.
It’s agony to run, every step pulling at him like chu jelly has lined the path. Seconds tick by and he tastes failure on his tongue. Wind, I’m sorry.
Wind’s last words echo in his mind. Words he will say in mere moments. “I forgive you.”
No, his thoughts growl back. Wind is a child still. They are all still so young.
Time runs, feeling like a helpless child himself, one desperately playing catch-up to a world that won’t wait for him.
He sees the corner up ahead. The final turn. He rushes onward, knowing it’s pointless. He’s felt the bitter sting of failure often enough to know how this will end.
And once again, he hears it.
“It’s okay.”
He doesn’t have the breath to call out.
“It’s okay, you can let go.”
But Time can’t. He leaps toward the cliff edge, hand plunging into his pouch, unwilling to let go of the childish hope that his family could stay together a little longer.
His hand closes around a trusty metal handle.
“I forgive you.”
There’s no time to aim. Time thrusts his arm out and fires.
The tension on the scarf releases. A rattle of chain on metal fills the air.
Wind falls, then screams as the bite of a hookshot plunges deep into his shoulder. His body smacks into the cliff wall and he writhes there for a heartbeat.
Time plants his feet, grips hard on the handle of his hookshot, and retracts the chain. His arms shake from the weight and he tips precariously toward the edge. A second pair of hands clap over his own. Warriors is a rock, and with his help the two of them are unyielding.
Wind’s tousled blond hair appears over the edge and Warriors hauls him onto solid ground. In seconds, Warriors has Wind wrapped in his arms. The younger boy clings right back, good arm slung around Warriors’ neck, uncaring about his injuries. Time sinks to the ground beside them, relief singing through him.
Warriors is red from fighting back tears. He gasps out, “I thought...I thought…” Tears flood his eyes and he ducks his face into Wind’s hair.
Time reaches out squeezes Warriors’ shoulder. “Shhh. None of that.”
“But I-” Warriors’ words cut off in a whimper, a startling sound that Time would like to never hear again. Wind’s arm tightens, his hand clutching into Warriros’ green tunic.
“It didn’t happen,” Time says.
Warriors holds out a shaking hand, blue scarf slipping over his palm. “I know what I did,” he whispers.
Time lurches forward and grabs them both. He pulls them into his chest, both boys tucked under his arms. “It. Didn’t. Happen,” he growls.
Warriors’ voice is muffled, still pressed against Wind, “I could never forgive myself.”
“Don’t,” Wind cuts in. “Please don’t say that.”
Time holds on tighter, lightly rocking them all, each one of them clinging to the others. He doesn’t care how it looks, doesn’t give one second’s thought to the teasing he might endure. Right now he just holds tight to his boys while the others finally spill onto the scene.
He can feel Wind, chest rising steadily against him. He can feel Warriors, tears already drying as Wind wipes them away with a watery laugh.
Later, under the blanket of night, Time will lower his drained and aching body to his bedroll. He will count the shapes around the fire, stopping only when he catches himself cycling through for a third time. He will whisper only for himself to hear, “It didn’t happen. It didn't happen. It didn't happen.”
‘It’ only exists as a dream, a nightmare. It lives in some alternate reality where a kingdom is wreathed in darkness; where a moon falls to the earth; where, at the bottom of a forgotten ravine, there lies a distant smear of color.
Two shades of blue against the rocks.
...
...
...
(The flow of time takes many paths. Would you like to glimpse another one?)
