Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Goddesses, sailor, would you shut the hell up!” Legend yells, suddenly enough that a bird takes flight from a tree they’re passing. 

Twilight twitches at the outburst, gritting his teeth against the uneasy roil in his gut. Wind has been talking constantly for the past half hour, and while even Twilight himself is getting tired of it, the bite of condescending annoyance in Legend’s tone is very real.

Back it up, he tells himself. Twilight can’t snap just because Legend did. Legend’s been having an off day since they got up that morning anyway— off enough that it's actually distinguishable from his normal days. None of them know each other well enough to see the little things yet since it’s only been a couple of weeks, but today it’s obvious. 

Three weeks was all it took to show which Links got along naturally and which ones, well, didn’t. Warriors and Wind, for example, along with himself and Wild, acted like they’d known each other for years prior. Then there were duos like Time and Sky— not necessarily on the ‘doesn’t get along’ spectrum, but two people who never really find a reason to talk to the other outside of emergencies. 

And then there were duos like Twilight and Legend.

Twilight… okay, Twilight can’t say he entirely likes Legend at this point. He’s got a big mouth and a bigger head and is always finding a way to pick on somebody. Especially the younger kids. He’s sullen and unfriendly to the point where Twilight sometimes finds himself weirdly concerned, because no one else tries so hard to push the rest away.

Then Legend starts up an argument and Twilight forgets about all that.

He knows he’s not exactly slow to anger, but the irritating thing is that Legend knows that, too. He also knows which buttons to press to piss Twilight off enough to full-on argue with him. And even though Twilight can always tell when he’s doing it, that doesn’t stop him from reacting, because Legend described in one word would be ‘asshole’. 

Twilight blinks back into the present as Wind sticks out his tongue petulantly, dark eyes flashing as the tough-guy mask he usually keeps up cracks. “No one fucking asked you, Legend.” 

Wind’s voice is also very much not joking, hurt clear under the snappiness. The sailor often flies to the defensive over little things, since he knows he’s the youngest and the others can’t help but treat him as such sometimes. Twilight slows, resting a hand on Wind’s shoulder, gentle but firm in reprimand. 

“Boys,” Time says in his Dad Voice™, not looking back at them. They’re all tired, having dealt with a camp of monsters and then an ambush as they were eating lunch, both events cushioned by heavy amounts of walking. That’s the thing they seem to do the most these days. 

“Ain’t no point ‘n arguin’,” Twilight tells Wind lowly, steering him further along in the group. “He’s havin’ a day. Jus’ leave‘m alone.” 

“Oh, having a day, am I?” Legend snarls from behind him, and Twilight bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from his own growing annoyance. “Be less of a fucking day if the kid could learn to keep his mouth shut for five goddess-damnned minutes!” 

Wind stiffens under Twilight’s hand. But instead of rising up at the sharp jab, he shrinks, shoulders curling inward as his gaze drops to the dirt. “I don’t like silence, okay,” he mutters, and presses himself into Twilight’s side. 

“It’s a miracle you made it through your adventure at all, then,” Legend scoffs, and Wind flinches. 

A hot rush burns in Twilight’s chest, and then he’s proving himself a hypocrite as he whirls on the vet before he even registers what he’s doing. 

“Would’ya stop.” he bites out, scowling at the younger hero. “If you’s like silence so damn much, it’d be right better’f ya t’ keep it.”

Of course Legend doesn’t back down. In fact, he seems thrilled by the fact that Twilight is willing to pick a fight. His grin cuts his face as he says, “Oh, goatherd’s got big words now, huh? How many braincells did you use up right then?”

“Less’n it’ll take t’break yer nose if you don’t shut it,” Twilight snaps back. “Wind ain’t doing nothin’ worth botherin’ ‘bout.”

“Boys,” Time says again from the front, louder and firmer this time. Hyrule kicks Legend’s ankle lightly from behind, but both of them disregard the attempts of distraction. 

Legend marches right up to Twilight, getting into Twilight’s face despite the good six inches Twilight has on him. “You gonna prove it, wolf boy?” 

Twilight shoves Wind behind him and matches Legend with a grin of his own, though it’s more of a baring of teeth. His fang-like canines brush his lip as he growls, “Gladly.” 

Then there’s a hand in both of their faces, Warriors’ calloused palms shoving them apart. “Break it up, soldiers,” he says, rolling his eyes. “While it would be funny to watch you beat Legend into the ground, we’ve got places to be.”

He grabs Twilight’s arm in an iron grip, dragging him and subsequently Wind to the front and dropping them with Time. Twilight glares at him at the blatant saddling with his mentor. Warriors winks back infuriatingly before nabbing Legend and going to walk with Sky on the opposite side of the group. 

“Calm down, pup,” Time rumbles quietly. 

“He’s ‘n ass,” Twilight hisses, fists clenched. “Y’know he is. An’ he be doin’ it on purp’se! Ain’t no reason t’say shit like that to Wind ‘sides!” 

“Of course he’s doing it on purpose,” Time sighs, reaching up one hand to rub at the marks on his forehead. “He knows what makes you angry.”

Twilight scowls at his feet. “I know , Time, okay? But he don’t gotta be pickin’ on folks just to get t’me! Can’t he just say it ta my face like’a normal person?” 

“I can’t attest to understanding Legend yet,” Time states, though his voice has gone soft around the edges. It makes Twilight roll his eyes. “But I do know you and Legend are the most often at odds. Actual odds, I mean. Not just teasing.”

“He be startin’ it!” 

The side-eye Time gives him is possibly deserved. Twilight huffs and looks away. “We jus’ don’t getta ‘long too well. Our pers’nalities—”

“Are you sure?” Time says, pointedly enough that Twilight scowls at his feet. “I’m not trying to cast blame on anyone, pup. But it’s time to consider why it is that you butt heads so frequently. This kind of dysfunction puts your lives and ours at risk, Twilight.”

Twilight bristles. “I ain’t be lettin’ it int’a the battlefield, Time, y’know that. Ledge ain’t tha ’ stupid, neither.” 

“You may be surprised,” Time levels him with a flat look worthy of the Shade, and Twilight feels all the blustery self-righteousness blow right out. “You boys best figure it out. You don’t have to be friends, but it’d do us all a favour if you could stop biting each other’s heads off at any opportunity.” 

“Yes, sir. “ Twilight mumbles. 

Glancing back, he finds Legend’s piercing violet eyes already on him. Like he’d somehow been eavesdropping from the back of the group, the vet’s eyebrows raise as if to say, good luck.

Twilight groans silently, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Ordona give me strength,” he mutters under his breath. 

He’s got his work cut out for him. 

Twilight wants it on record that he tried. He did! Over the course of the next week he sat next to Legend during dinner, invited him to scout with him (which he never does), even took a double watch with him. But the vet either gives him the cold shoulder or says the most infuriating thing imaginable so that Twilight, saint that he is , has to get up lest they fight again. 

After every attempt, it’s clear that Legend could not care less about him or his olive branches. In fact, he gets even more snappy as the week went on, and they found themselves locked in an argument once more. So now Twilight is on dishes for the next three days while Legend is on laundry— grounded like they’re children. 

Twilight can hear Time’s response to that in his head: “Stop acting like it, then.” 

“I dunno what t’ do ,” he laments to Sky as they tag-team the dishes. He scrubs so hard at a bowl his hand aches. “Time don’t want us fightin’ no more. Fine. But the vet ain’t even tryin’. Hell, he be actin’ up worse!” 

Sky sighs, gently taking the overworked bowl from him. Sky is always gentle if he can help it; it seems to come effortlessly to him. Twilight wishes it was the same for himself. “He usually acts out when something’s bothering him.” 

“’paren’ly that somethin’ is me,” Twilight grumbles. 

“You’ve had good days before,” Sky points out, handing him a plate. “Remember that time you went shopping together in Wild’s Hyrule? I don’t think I heard a single jab out of either of you. In fact, I think you made him laugh once.” 

Twilight throws his hands up in frustration, before remembering the utensils and dropping them again. “Right! See, he ain’t so bad if he don’ get so– so sullen ‘n shit. I try ‘n treat him good ‘n not stumble ‘cross nothin’, but he jus’...” he sighs, shifting his weight. “‘S like he’s singled me out as ‘n enemy or somethin’.” 

Sky hums consideringly. “He’s a tough nut to crack. But I suppose he’s had to be. I think he’s working things out now that he doesn’t live and breathe adventures, you know? I also think he was very young when he started out, even if he won’t admit it. My adventure took nine months, after all, and I know that’s one of the shorter ones.”

Twilight blinks, dropping his gaze to the burbling creek they’ve taken advantage of. “Mine took nearly two years,” he says dryly. “You’s runnin’ all o’er the place or some shit?” 

Sky smiles thinly— the type of smile he offers whenever his adventure is brought up. Twilight is reminded then that he knows absolutely nothing about what this man’s adventure looked like, and makes the decision to shut up. “Ledge been on six, ain’t he? This here the seventh?” 

“Mhm,” Sky begins stacking the bowls. “Just… maybe try and remember that he’s been through a lot. You may remind him of something.”

Twilight snorts, taking the stack of plates Sky offers as they stand up. “Thanks f’r the vote a’confidence.”

“Good things can be painful too,” Sky reminds him, rolling his eyes fondly. “But he isn’t fragile, most days. You don’t have to treat him differently— well,” he grins in that smartass way he does sometimes, eyes laughing. 

“Aw, shut up,” Twilight grins back, shoulder-checking him as they make their way back to camp. 

Legend’s already there, stringing up wet laundry on a line next to Warriors. He catches Twilight’s eye as he passes and glances down just as quickly, scowling at the ground. But in that second, he hadn’t looked as hostile as usual. He seemed… almost evaluating. Or, Hylia forbid, thoughtful. 

Twilight catches himself, shaking his head. There he goes again. Legend’s not a bad guy; he knows this. He just acts like an ass sometimes, and Twilight is fully aware he does too. Legend is just, ahem. More Legend. 

Nayru condemn him, he’s hopeless. Twilight drops to his bedroll with a sigh, letting his eyes trace the foliage above and listening to the others settling down for the night. Four settles down close enough that he could reach out and touch him if he wanted, and Twilight smiles to himself as he picks up his pelt to toss over the smithy. Four curls into a ball under it and is out in seconds. Twilight’s always envied his and Sky’s ability to fall asleep anywhere. Must’ve come in handy on their adventures. 

It takes nearly a half hour for Twilight to find sleep, but he finds it nonetheless with the remains of the campfire glowing softly behind his head.

He lurches up violently a few hours later with his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest, sweat-soaked and blurry-eyed. 

Twilight curls over his knees and tries to breathe through the remnants of the nightmare. Midna’s screams and Zant’s laughter echo in his head— echo from the walls of that damned cave, magic corrupting and twisting every inch of the once sacred place. Corrupting and twisting him, the curse reopened like a wound right down to his bones, ripping and reshifting every inch of his body until the only thing left in him is agony —

The marks on his face ache in memory, and Twilight rubs at his forehead before dragging his hand over his eyes. Get it together, Link. 

“Rancher,” Warriors’ voice says lowly, and Twilight has to physically stop himself from taking a swing on instinct. 

“Fine,” he bites out without looking up, even though his voice is definitely shaking. He sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek. When he’s sure he’s not going to have a panic attack right in front of Warriors, he drops his hand and gets to his feet. “Gonna get s’me air.” 

Warriors doesn’t reply, but Twilight feels the captain’s gaze on his back until the trees obscure him. Everything goes unsteady then, when he knows he’s alone. Twilight presses a hand to a tree as a shudder rips through him, unsure if he wants to cry or yell or just keep walking forever. 

His hand shakes as he reaches for the crystal, like it always does whenever he gets flashbacks of Zant. But he needs to know. He needs to make sure and show himself it doesn’t hurt him anymore. Zant cannot haunt him through this. Twilight won’t allow it. 

And, just like always, it doesn’t hurt. Twilight is the master of himself. No one can control him anymore. 

He’s not sure how long he wanders, sticking his nose into fallen logs and running around the perimeter. There’s nothing in sight and no scent anywhere nearby, though he wouldn’t have protested if there was. He wouldn’t mind punching something right now. As it is, he gives a fox a scare and has a deeply enigmatic conversation with a crow. They never really make any sense; at least ravens speak in comprehensible riddles. 

Finally, he feels rundown enough to pass for relaxed and heads back. Warriors looks up as soon as Twilight steps in, still on watch and clearly waiting for him. Knowing he won’t sleep again tonight and giving in to his fate, Twilight sits down next to him with a sigh. 

“Anything?” Warriors asks. 

“Nothin’,” he replies, leaning back on his hands. 

Warriors has frighteningly still hands, Twilight thinks, watching said hands as they rest on the scabbard that’s across his lap. Most of the other Links and Twilight himself usually fiddle with something, like hems or items or have obvious nervous tendencies. But he has never seen Warriors do anything of the sort. No nail picking or biting like Hyrule, no aimless tapping of his fingers like Wild, no lip biting like Sky or hand through his hair like Legend or Time. No running his fingers over hems and seams like Wind and Four. 

Twilight wonders if it also drives Warriors insane, how still he is. He wonders if it’s a byproduct of the training he must’ve had to become a captain or something he’s always carried. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Warriors offers, glancing at Twilight out of the corner of his eye. 

Twilight’s hand flicks to one of the marks underneath his eye unconsciously. “Nah,” he says, proud of how casual his voice sounds. “Th’nks, though. Mind’f I offer ya my company ‘stead?”

Warriors smiles a little, but his eyes look far away. Tonight must not be his best night either. For the second time that day, Twilight is reminded how little he knows about these heroes he travels with. He hopes time will remedy that, because he really would like to understand the ones he has a connection with that’s outside of time. Yes, even Legend.

 “I’d like that.” Warriors says softly. 

They sit together in companionable silence, stars bright over their heads. And, to Twilight’s surprise, something settles in his chest and he begins to nod off. By the time his head hits Warriors’ shoulder, he’s too far gone to notice. He also doesn’t see how Warriors softens, arm coming up to wrap around his shoulder to keep him steady. 

“Hylia help me with these stubborn heroes,” Warriors sighs, half-exasperated, half-fond. 

Twilight doesn’t stir again until dawn.

Chapter Text

When Twilight opens his eyes, it’s to a foot nudging him in the side. The sky is clear and blue above them, grasses humming sweetly in the breeze next to his head— except they’d made camp in a forest last night. 

Twilight’s on his feet before the drawled voice even registers: “Wakey, wakey, bitch.” 

Legend looks him up and down, eyebrows raised. Twilight scowls back. He’s already off his footing, and now he has to deal with the vet the first second after waking up. Joy. 

“Good mornin’ to ya, too,” Twilight forces himself to say mildly. He surveys their surroundings: a field that marches toward the horizon, golden-green grasses poking at his knees and wildflowers scattered amongst them. 

There is no other hero in sight besides Legend— who, upon further inspection, looks entirely dishevelled. He lacks his gear, dressed only in his dark green undertunic and shorts. His cap is also missing, and Twilight has to fight down the urge to smile over Legend’s abhorrent bedhead. His bag is slung over his shoulder, though, which isn’t entirely surprising since the vet never parts with it voluntarily. 

Twilight himself is also in his undertunic, sash and cord. He doesn’t have his bag or his armour, and the only weapon he has is the dagger in his boot. Nothing else in sight. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. 

Different era. No gear. And only Legend for company. 

“So,” Legend says as the silence ticks on. “It’s you.” 

Twilight sighs again. “N it’s you. This’n yours?” 

Legend shakes his head, glaring at the grassland around. “I’m guessing you’re asking because it’s not yours, either.” 

“Nope,” Twilight drawls, stretching out the ‘o’ even more than his accent typically does just to annoy Legend a bit. Without any prompt, he picks a direction and starts walking. 

“You sound like a peasant,” Legend grumbles under his breath, stomping up to his side. 

“‘N you’s be soundin’ like you all high ‘n mighty,” Twilight snarks back. “Where’d ya get tha’ accent, the castle?” 

Legend sticks his tongue out at him, which sticks out to Twilight as a strangely childish thing to do. “Castle town , you twit.”

Twilight finds himself grinning, and not in a particularly sharp way as they start to walk in no set direction. “Nah, boy, you talkin’ like some noble.” 

“So maybe I was raised by one,” Legend snaps, but again, it doesn’t carry the same weight that it usually does. “And he was a crown knight, not a noble.” 

“Aw, all them town folk talk the ‘xact same.” 

“Warriors and I do not sound nearly the same.” 

“Wars’ accent be a front, that’a why.” 

Legend stops to gawk at him. “Seriously?” 

Twilight grins again, and it’s even more of a real smile than last time. “You gotta listen when he ain’t payin’ no attention or when he’s pissed. You get ‘im madder th’n a wet hen ‘n it’ll be clear as day. Trust me, that ain’t no city boy.”

Legend gives a little ‘huh’, then jabs a finger at Twilight’s chest. “You’re helping me expose him.”

Twilight thinks he surprises both of them when he actually laughs. “Ledge, I would love to.”

Silence settles between them, and it’s not uncomfortable or tension-filled. In fact, it’s kind of nice. Normal. 

Twilight’s pretty sure they both realise at the same moment that they just held a typical, non-at-each-other’s-throat conversation. He almost trips over a rock at the revelation, glancing at Legend out of the corner of his eye. Twilight had all the intention— and resignation— of fighting as soon as the vet came through that portal alone. He’d bet Legend did, too. And here they are, remarkably not fighting. No divine intervention needed.

Legend tugs on his bangs, head ducked. In that one action, Twilight’s stomach tightens with the feeling that this isn’t going to last. 

And it doesn’t. Like a ricochet, Legend looks at him with narrowed eyes and says, “So do you intend to sound brainless, or is it just your default?” 

Twilight sighs for a third time, deliberately takes a step away from Legend, and doesn’t deign the jab with a response. 

Legend always does this. Every single time Twilight thinks he’s made some progress, Legend throws it back in his face without a thought. He’s a skilled manipulator, silver-tongued and an expert in people, but it’s because he’s so good at figuring out everyone else that he knows exactly how to hide from the same analyses. It’s a respectable talent, sure, but Twilight hates it because he just cannot understand him.  

Twilight is good with people, too— he can always see behind their masks to what they’re really feeling and always understands the true meaning behind their words. His understanding is primarily emotional. Legend’s mind, on the other hand, works from a logical standpoint. He comes off so cold at times that Twilight’s not sure he feels at all anymore, his emotions so far down that Twilight can’t detangle them for the life of him. 

Twilight is far from stupid, of course. Even after the three weeks they’ve had together, he sees the way Legend slips into the sharp words and taunts like it’s automatic. The second it looks like Warriors or Sky might coax that guard down, at just the suggestion of possible softening, the vet throws out venom-laced barbs almost on habit. Like it’s a shield. 

A defence mechanism, Twilight’s pretty sure. Though sometimes he’s convinced that Legend is, really and truly, just an asshole. He’s not sure if even Legend himself knows the difference. 

“Oi,” Legend says, weirdly quiet. Twilight glances at him, coming out of his reverie. Legend isn’t looking at him, instead glaring at the horizon like it’s Ganondorf himself. “There’s no damn end to this field.” 

Twilight blinks, following his gaze. It’s true; they’ve been walking for almost an hour, if Twilight’s subconscious count is correct, and it looks like they barely moved at all. Green still covers all the compass points around, peppered with small flowers of yellow and pink. There’s not even the shadow of a tree in sight. 

A small breeze kicks up, rustling Twilight’s bangs from his forehead. He cranes his neck, nearly having to close his eyes for a second at how pure blue the sky is, and feels a shiver crawl down his spine against the warmth of the day. 

The sun hasn’t moved from its position of just above the crest of the horizon. Not a single inch. 

With dread lining his chest, Twilight kneels, reaching for one of the wildflowers. He stares at it for a second before rubbing the petals between his fingers. It leaves a staticky feeling on his fingertips, like a small ping of electricity. The flower has no scent.

Twilight would bet his Ordon shield it’s completely composed of magic. 

He lifts his head to meet Legend’s gaze, silent. Legend blinks slowly before throwing his arms up in the air with a frustrated huff. “ Great ,” he grumbles. “I have always wanted to spend the rest of my life in a fucking flower field. My retirement forms must have finally reached the Sacred Realm.” 

Twilight rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. “Don’t be so dramatic,” 

“Of course you would be happy about this,” Legend kicks at the grass. “Throw in some fuckin’ goats and you’d never leave. Oh, wait, and those pumpkins, right? Can’t forget the damn pumpkins!” 

“Would’ya shut up,” Twilight snaps, feeling something dangerously close to anger stirring. “I ain’t happy ‘bout this no more than you are. How’s ‘bout we find a way outta here ‘n then fight?” 

“I am an incredible multi-tasker.” Legend deadpans. 

Twilight rolls his eyes heavily. “You’s gonna get left behind is what you are,” 

“Who’s the one who was smart enough to have their bag on them, again?” Legend drops down to sit, bag on his lap as he begins to sort through the contents. “Useless, as always.” 

The words slice into his core, bottoming out his stomach, and Twilight finds his hands are fists. Forcibly peeling each finger away one by one, he breathes through the heat growing in his gut. Legend is right. It had been stupid to fall asleep with what little he had on him— there could’ve been an emergency or an ambush, and he would’ve been nothing but deadweight. Just like what actually happened. Just like he is now. 

Twilight sits, closes his eyes, and breathes. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for three. In, hold, out. Four, seven, three. He does it until his head settles, until that burning subsides. Until he can open his eyes and not immediately have to sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek lest he curse out Legend. He knows how to control himself and he will. 

The downside to this is once the anger is gone, Twilight is left with only the ache of that knowledge: Legend is right. 

“Ah!” Legend exclaims proudly, and Twilight looks up as he withdraws a creamy white ocarina from the depths of his bag. He taps it a few times and glances smugly at Twilight, like Twilight’s supposed to know what the implications of the instrument are. “Let’s get this bitch, shall we?”

Twilight gives a sarcastic ‘all yours’ motion.

Legend lifts the ocarina to his lips.

The scent of monster hits Twilight so hard that he gags. 

He’s moving before his brain catches up, shoving Legend to the side on pure instinct. Legend hollers a swear in his ear and flails, hand smacking Twilight’s face. An arrow sinks into the other one— the one holding the ocarina— instead of his neck. Legend swears again through gritted teeth as the instrument hits the ground. 

Twilight stays low as he searches for the monsters he knows are here, one arm on Legend’s chest to keep him down. But the only thing he can see are gently waving grasses and scentless wildflowers, even as the inside of his nose burns with the vile stench of them. 

The silence feels like it’s balancing on a knife’s edge. 

The stillness breaks as Legend shoves at him, wriggling out from under Twilight’s grip like a particularly annoying eel. He glares at the arrow through his palm like it’s a minor inconvenience before he freezes, eyes locked on the ground. 

Twilight follows his gaze to see the ocarina, creamy white now sullied and in no less than three pieces. 

Legend whirls on him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he snarls, voice shaking with the weight of the words. “You just had to pin me to the fucking ground, did you? Over one arrow?!” 

All Twilight can do is stare at him for a moment. Irritation clouds his head so fast his vision blurs. “I jus’ saved your lousy-ass life!” 

Legend snaps the head off the arrow and throws it to the ground, sliding out the shaft with one quick grimace. Blood drips down his hand, coating his fingers red and dripping into the dirt. His accent is quick and clipped when he speaks in a way Twilight’s never heard before. “Oh, yes, thank you for the impaled hand. I’m indebted to you.” 

“Tha’ arrow woulda gone through you’s neck,” Twilight growls, feeling his ears pin against his skull. His head is beginning to pound behind his eyes and he cannot believe this. “You wouldn’t give no shit ‘bout an ocar’na if you was dead.” 

“And I’m truly shocked you purposefully missed such an opportunity!” Legend yells. He drops to his knees and scoops up the pieces, slipping them back into his bag. “Hylia knows you thought about it!” 

Twilight’s words die on his tongue, everything going so still for a moment that all there is is his thrumming heart in his throat. That same breeze whips past his face, tickling the back of his neck. The sound of it whistling past his ears almost sounds like a laugh. 

It all comes back in an explosion of incredulous anger. 

“I don’ wan’ ya fuckin’ dead!” Twilight bellows wrangling with the urge to grab the vet and shake him. “Why’n Ordona’s grace would’ya even think that!” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Legend hisses right back. “Maybe because I’m such an ass , isn’t that right? Because I’m a bully with no right to be a hero? Well, I got some goddamn news for you, Twilight— I didn’t fucking ask for this!”  

Twilight throws his hands into the air, head hammering and chest hot. “‘N you’s think any f’us did?! You ain’t fuckin’ special, Legend!” 

Legend bursts into laughter, high and mocking and desperate. It sounds like he might cry. “You think I don’t know that?”

The wind picks up behind Twilight, the rustling of grass almost melodious. He can’t understand anything in his head anymore, pain ricocheting between his temples and all of it a cloudy mess of high-strung emotion that might burst him at the seams. “Legend,” he says through gritted teeth— he can control himself. He can and he will. “c’n we please jus’ focus on gettin’ outta here?” 

“Be. My. Guest.” Legend hisses, each word carefully pronounced. He turns on his heel and stalks away. 

Twilight watches him go, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Four, seven, three. They both need to cool down or else one of them might end up strangling the other, and then they’re really never gonna get out and find the others. 

Twilight screws his eyes shut and drops to a crouch, bringing a hand up to press at his forehead. His marks sting with phantom pain and he digs his fingernails into them, as if he could peel them out of his skin to make the pain stop. His head pounds. 

When he finally cracks his eyes open, he’s greeted with a patch of blood-splattered grass from Legend’s hand. Twilight sighs internally, knowing he has to go after the vet to make sure he bandages that properly. He shifts, getting ready to stand up, but a flash of colour stops him. 

Twilight stares at a pink flower, petals dotted crimson. As he watches, the blood disappears, fading into the coral shade. Then, all of the sudden, Twilight is looking at a flower the exact same red as Legend’s blood. One of the petals drips the liquid languidly. In the centre, a small yellow eye unfolds itself and fixes upon Twilight. 

The eye blinks. More petals twitch, and the flower grins up at him with human teeth. 

Twilight’s heart gives a messy thump, but it’s gone just as fast as it had appeared. The wind falls silent again, grasses going still. The only noise is the steady drip-drip-drip of blood off the flower petals. 

By the time Twilight shoots to his feet, legs unsteady, Legend is already gone.

Chapter Text

Drip.

“Legend!” Twilight hollers. Again, again, again and again . 

There’s no answer. 

Drip.

The grasses whip at Twilight's boots as he runs like they’re trying to grab onto him, shuffling and whistling until their sound drowns out the roaring in his head. Nevertheless, he can still hear that accursed dripping echoing in his ears almost as often as he yells for Legend. 

Drip.

Twilight stumbles, chest heaving. His vision is blackening at the edges, but he’s unsure if that’s from the lack of oxygen or the hammering in his head. Both, probably. 

He can barely straighten up again, feet clambering to the side as he nearly trips over himself. His eyes go fuzzy for one, two seconds, everything around him falling blissfully silent. 

Drip. 

Twilight’s marks erupt into pain like they’re being seared into his flesh for the first time. His hands fly to his face, vision whiting out and fingernails tearing at skin as he doubles over and screams —

There’s a foot nudging at his side. When he slides his gritty eyes open, the sky is clear and blue above them, grasses humming sweetly in the breeze next to his head.

Twilight barely has time to blink before Legend’s voice drawls above him, “Wakey, wakey, bitch.” 

Twilight lurches up, heart slamming in his chest as he tears his gaze away from the field to the face above. “Ledge?!” 

Legend scowls down at him, arms crossed over his chest. His face is unmarked, no blood on his hand and bedhead still rampant. The vet rolls his eyes to the sky and snaps back, “No, it’s Ganondorf.” 

Twilight hauls himself to his feet, the pain in his head notably weak. It’s not gone, not fully, but it’s reduced to a dull pulse behind his temples. He traces his marks with a cautious hand, but there’s no stinging. Feeling a bit like he’s in a dream, he grabs Legend’s palm in both hands. It’s unmarred, simply rough with callouses and streaked with little scars. There is, notably, no gaping arrow wound. 

Legend snatches his hand away from Twilight, taking a step back. “The fuck?”

Twilight breathes in, out. Turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing over the horizon. It’s all the same, from the wildflowers down to the little wisps of clouds in the obscenely blue sky. Distantly, he realises he can’t hear the dripping anymore. 

“The hell’s up with you?” Legend demands, his voice too loud in the still air. “Is this one yours or not?”

Twilight turns back to him, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Legend is scowling at him expectantly and Twilight can’t think properly, not with the memories that may not be memories clouding his head. He keeps his eyes covered as he asks dimly, “Did we jus’ get ‘ere?”

“Portal ate us at sunrise,” Legend confirms. “Course, you were sleeping like a rock.”

“An’,” Twilight swallows thickly. “An’ you’s never been ‘ere a’fore?” 

“...No,” Legend says slowly, and there’s suspicion leaking into his voice now. “I’ve never seen this place before in my life. Have you?”

Twilight drops his hands, gaze locking onto a wildflower at his feet. It’s pink, just like the one before. Just like the one that had a face. Just like the one that seemed to consume Legend’s blood. 

His mouth is dry as cotton when he speaks. “I dunno.”

The silence spread between them like a plague, heavy and thick. Twilight can feel Legend’s eyes on him and knows that he’s being dissected right now. He can’t bring himself to care, because there is something not right about this place, and he has no idea how to stop it. 

“Okaayy,” Legend pulls the word out by the vowels. Twilight can feel the glare from here. “I knew you were crazy, but damn.” 

Adrenaline-born irritation whips up in Twilight’s gut. “Tell me this place be normal,” he demands, locking his gaze with the vet’s, who seems taken aback by his fierceness. “Tell me this ain’t weird at’ll, n’ I won’ bother you none ‘bout it.” 

Legend considers this, looking out over the flat, endless grass from horizon to horizon. He tips his head back to study the sky, lips pursed and eyes narrow. Crossing his arms over his chest, he blows out a slow breath and repeats. After about a minute of this, he drops his arms and murmurs, “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

“So?” Twilight asks, feeling suddenly breathless. 

Legend huffs, turning back to him. “So you’re not that crazy. It’s fuckin’ shoddy work— too many patterns. Can’t believe you actually noticed before I did.” 

He gives Twilight a strange, appraising once-over, and Twilight deflates a bit at the admission. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead— to his marks— and fights off the inappropriate urge to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Legend grumbles, digging through his bag. “Congratulations, you can recognise a shitty magical creation. Hail ye.”

Twilight snorts, something akin to relief in his lungs. He shoves Legend’s shoulder without thinking. “Oh, shut up.” 

Legend doesn’t snap at him for the random touch, as he often does, instead making a triumphant sound as he unearths that same creamy ocarina from his bag. He offers Twilight a sharp grin, a look that could maybe be interpreted as not murderous for once. “Let’s get this bitch, shall we?”

The words shock the corresponding grin off Twilight’s face, deja-vu tearing over his skin. He remembers the burn of monster scent, the broken ocarina, the arrow, the blood . He lunges forward right as Legend lifts the ocarina to his mouth. 

He falls, slamming onto his side with a wheeze. Something is anchored on Twilight’s foot. He spares a quick glance— plants, grass, flowers, long and viny and wrapped around his boot. 

A note, sweet and breathy, fills the air. Twilight jerks his head up, head again pounding, shoving to his feet again. The black scent chokes him, slithering through his nose and whispering in his head. 

“Legend!” Twilight screams, reaching. 

He’s not fast enough. The arrow slides through Legend’s throat like butter. 

Twilight’s heart stops.

Legend makes a choking sound, wet and awful and horribly small. The ocarina falls from his fingers, splattered with red blood. Legend follows a second later.

Twilight scrambles over, a terrible roar building in his chest. His hands shake as they flit over the vet, again and again as Legend’s breath whistles and rattles even though he knows there’s nothing he can do.

There is so much blood. So, so much. 

Legend’s twitching hand latches onto the front of Twilight’s tunic. He lets out a breathy, barely there keen, terrified and quickly-clouding violet eyes on Twilight’s. 

He’s scared. 

There’s nothing Twilight can do. 

“It’s okay,” Twilight chokes out, clasping Legend’s hand in his. “It’s okay. I’m not goin’ nowhere, it’s okay.” 

A tear slips out of Legend’s eye. His mouth moves, saying something over and over but Twilight can’t tell what it is. He brushes trembling fingers across Legend’s forehead, combing back his bangs. His bedhead is still atrocious. 

“You’re okay,” Twilight whispers. “‘M here, Ledge.”  

He says it like a mantra, over and over, until Legend’s hand goes slack in his. Until his eyes dull and his chest stops moving. He says it until he can’t anymore, voice too shaky and choked with sobs. 

His marks smoulder and burn, making his head spin and vision blacken. Everything in front of him glitches as the pain grows, octave by octave. Through watery, unsure eyes, he sees something bleed into existence, crouching next to Legend. 

Twilight snarls, pressing the vet closer to his chest. The black figure looks up at him, cool blue eyes burning in its head. It regards him for a moment, and Twilight’s staring into Midna’s face. 

She smiles mischievously at him, one fang poking out like it always did. “Hey, dumbass,” she says, her voice is smooth and dark as molasses. 

She reaches out to place a hand on Twilight’s cheek, thumb rubbing against his cheekbone. Twilight is lost, so lost, head dizzy with pain, Legend’s body in his arms and Midna’s hand on his face and a wretched feeling in his chest. 

“Ev’rythin’s fallin’ ‘part,” he whispers. “I keep makin’ thin’s fall ‘part.” 

“I know,” Midna cooes, her fanged smile not dropping. “But you can make it better.” 

When Twilight looks again, there’s flowers growing from Legend’s throat. Pink, yellow, red, spreading across bloodied skin and grass, the colours bright and mocking. 

“How?” he chokes out. 

Midna laughs, that tinkling, shattering-glass sound Twilight had gotten so used to over the course of his adventure. Her hand withdraws from his face, claws scraping along his skin. She takes hold of Twilight’s hand instead, fingers intertwining. Something cool and hard is pressed in between their palms. 

Twilight looks down to see a gleaming dagger, blade curved wickedly and black as night. The tip is pressed to Legend’s chest. 

Midna’s smile is too big for her face, lips stretching and curling up towards her ears. Twilight’s heart thumps along to the pounding in his head, feeling an ice-cold wind on the back of his neck.

“Do it again.” she whispers. 

Twilight jerks back like he’s been burned, ripping away from Midna’s touch. He keeps falling, wind and grass swallowing him as the cloying scent of flowers fills the air. His head spins, spins, spins, the blue sky becoming an endless swirling sea around him. 

His hand throbs, cut wide open across the fingers when he tore away from the blade. Crimson splatters in Twilight’s vision. 

Everything fades.

Twilight wakes as if from a nightmare, lungs spasming and heart jackhammering against his ribcage. Twilight wakes as if from a dream, chasing the misty strands of it but remembering none. He doesn’t know which one it was. 

“Wakey, wakey, bitch.” 

Twilight squints his eyes open to behold none other than Legend, and he has to fight back a groan. He drops his head back into the grass, scrubbing his hands over his face. It takes a minute to feel like he can breathe again, but the hot stab of irritation doesn’t fade. 

“Good mornin’ t’ya, too,” he mutters, keeping his hands over his eyes.  

Twilight jumps when Legend prods him in the side with the toe of his boot none-too-gently. “Get the fuck up, goat man. I don’t know where we are.” 

Twilight blinks, the sentence ringing some sort of vague bell in his head over his annoyance. He sits up, glancing over their surroundings: endless golden-green grasses with splashes of colour here and there. No other hero is in sight, and Legend is blatantly missing his gear. Twilight glances down at himself to see the same. 

Different era. No gear. And only Legend for company. 

Joy. 

“So,” Legend says as Twilight gets to his feet, shaking out his hair. “It’s you.” 

Twilight sighs, very happy to be reminded. But he can do this— he’s an adult. Legend is an adult. They are mature people who can figure out how to get back to the others without murdering each other. “N it’s you. This’n yours?” 

Legend shakes his head, glaring at the grassland around like he can make it change with just his scowl. “I’m guessing you’re asking because it’s not yours, either.” 

“Nope,” Twilight drawls, stretching out the ‘o’ even more than his accent typically does, just to annoy Legend a bit. Without any prompt, he picks a direction and starts walking. 

Legend just rolls his eyes and stomps after him, grumbling something about ‘self-righteous hill hobos’ and Twilight actually has to force down a snort at that. 

The field proves to be just as described: endless. Twilight can’t see anything but grass in any direction, and with every step a feeling of unease grows in his gut. He’s not entirely sure what’s fueling it, but there’s some sort of alarm bell deep in his subconscious that rings on and on. 

When he glances over at Legend, the vet’s face is also tense, quick eyes flitting everywhere at once. They meet gazes once, an angry but acknowledging affair. 

There is something not right about this place. 

The feeling sharpens with every wildflower Twilight passes until his fingernails are biting into his palms. The wretched weight in his chest has not gone away since he woke up, only growing heavier as time wears on. The anxiety of an unrecalled nightmare nags at him, calls to his paranoia and sets his teeth on edge. It whispers to him to look, look, you’re missing something LOOK. 

Twilight shoves it down as best he can, but his hands won’t stop shaking. The phantom scent of iron clouding the air lingers on the back of his tongue. He doesn’t know where it came from.

There is no blood, Twilight tells himself. 

There is blood, his mind shrieks back. There is blood.

Chapter Text

“I spy w’th my li’l eye—” Twilight drawls, squinting at the ever-constant horizon.

“Shut,” Legend says through gritted teeth, “the fuck up.” 

“ —somethin’... pink ‘n bitchy.” 

Legend’s foot finds Twilight’s ankle faster than the rancher can blink, the kick swift and vicious. Twilight can’t help but cackle, especially at the almost childish put-out expression Legend’s wearing. 

“M’kay, m’kay,” Twilight gasps out. “I spy w’th my li’l eye… something blue.” 

“The fucking sky,” Legend deadpans, rolling his eyes. “You’ve said that four damn times.” 

“There ain’t much to work with,” Twilight protests, fighting down a grin. 

“There isn’t much for your brain to work with, you mean,” Legend snipes back, and this time it’s Twilight kicking his ankle. Legend flips him off in return. 

“Alright, seriously,” the vet drawls after a second. “What the fuck are gonna do about this field. You know. The never ending one. The probably magical-as-a-bitch field?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, sorry,” Twilight snickers. 

“I will end you right here and now.” 

Twilight gives him a confused look. “You can only reach my ankles.” 

Legend throws his hands up in the air, as though Twilight can’t see how his eyes glint with mischievousness. It makes him look suddenly young, and Twilight can’t help but stare. Logically, he knows the vet is nineteen. But it’s easy to forget with someone bearing as heavy of shoulders as he does. 

“Fuck you, too,” Legend says. “I’m gonna leave you here and see how long it takes the others to notice, how ‘bout that?”

Oh. That’s a thought. 

Do the others even know that they’re gone? Have they noticed? As far as Twilight is concerned, he went to sleep and woke up here, and he’s pretty sure Legend doesn’t have any extra information. Are they here, too, wandering around in the sweet-smelling grasses like they are? 

Twilight squints into the horizon like he’s done many times now, but there isn’t any resulting change. Green, blue, wispy clouds, flowers. Twilight thinks he might go insane if he sees another patch of flowers. 

(— flowers— pink, yellow, red— blood, there was blood there was somuch blood —) 

Legend’s shoulder smacks into his, and Twilight nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s suddenly breathless, hands shaking, the phantom press of something cool against his palms— 

“... you good?” Legend asks, peering at him through his eyelashes. 

Twilight tries to shake it off as best he can. It doesn’t stop his stomach from churning slightly when he sees an orange flower by his boot. 

He crushes it beneath his heel. 

“Fine,” he murmurs. “Jus’... keep gettin’ weird feelin’s.” 

Legend sighs through his nose, tugging on his bangs. “Me too.” he eyes the sky above. “I’m thinking there may be something weird about this. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” 

Twilight snorts. “What are you talking about,” he says flatly, in his best imitation of Legend’s crisp accent. 

Legend actually shudders, taking an exaggerated step away from Twilight. “Ugh. Never do that shit again.” 

Twilight laughs. It doesn’t drown out the growing roar in his head. 

The feeling of ‘I’m not outrunning this’ whispers in his mind, ever-present.

He wishes he knew what it meant. 

Twilight has no idea how long it’s been, only that it’s long . His feet started aching what he thinks is an hour ago, and the sun has grown to be blinding in his eyes. It never moves, not once. Legend’s cheeks and nose bear the bright pink of a sunburn, and he rubs at the skin, annoyed. 

Twilight snatches his hand away. “Quit that.” 

“I hate sunburns,” Legend mutters, dragging his wrist out from Twilight’s grip. He drops to the ground suddenly, sending Twilight’s heart catapulting into his throat. He whips his head around; he hears the phantom whistle of an arrow, but there’s nothing in sight. 

Legend throws his arms up in the arm and flops over on to his back. Twilight snorts, sitting down. The dirt is strangely warm underneath him, and he picks up a handful and lets it run through his fingers absentmindedly. 

“We,” Legend says, with great irritation, “are getting nowhere.” 

“Seconded,” Twilight mutters.

Legend rolls onto his side to face him, hand propping up his head. “This is clearly magical, right?” Twilight nods in agreement, and Legend blows out a breath. “I have an idea then, even if I don’t know what the fuck this place is.” 

He sits up, bag on his lap as he rummage through it. His hand emerges holding an ocarina. 

Twilight’s stomach flips. 

He barely has a chance to breathe before his mind halts, vision glitching— Legend on the ground, Twilight reaching, blood on the flowers. He snatches the ocarina out of Legend’s hands before he knows what he’s doing, the ceramic creaking under his grip. 

Legend just stares at him, mouth open, apparently just as surprised as Twilight himself is. 

“Uh,” Twilight says, throat bobbing. Dread lies like iron in his gut. “maybe… we wait on the oc’rina.”

“Maybe,” Legend hisses, taking a step forward, and his immediate sharp turn into anger makes Twilight falter. “you give me my shit back.” 

He holds out a hand. 

Twilight can’t do it. 

He has not the slightest clue why, but something is rattling within his instincts and screaming. His fingers shake underneath it, like he’s holding the weight of the world with this one small instrument. The scent of blood burns the inside of his nose.

(The edge of a hilt digging into his palm— a cold hand on his cheek, a sweet voice in his ear—) 

Twilight is ripped from his mind when Legend punches him in the face. 

His multitude of rings dig into Twilight’s cheek and he yelps, driving his forehead against Legend’s on instinct. Legend staggers back with a swear, violet eyes bright and absolutely seething . 

“Give it back,” he spits. “Twilight, I swear to Hylia, give it back.” 

With that wretched weight tearing at his chest, Twilight shakes his head. 

He knows himself, and he knows his instincts. He’s never been wrong before. 

Legend laughs, hysterical and desperate, like Twilight can’t see the way his hands are shaking. “So you’re just set on being an asshole, then. We’re stuck in this Hylia forsaken field and right when I think you might not be such a dick after all, you go and do shit like this!” 

Twilight bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to give in to the irritation boiling in his chest. “Ledge,” he says carefully. “I dunno why, but I think somethin' bad will happ'n 'f you use this.” 

“What the fuck are you even talking about?!” Legend yells. He lunges for the instrument again, but Twilight turns so the smaller hero all but bounces off of his shoulder. Legend snarls, a frustrated, animalistic sound. He takes a step back, and Twilight can see the moment his strategy shifts. 

“Oh, because you’re just so good at what you do, right?” Legend bites out. “You just know , do you? So skilled at recognising evil after your one adventure— which, remind what you even did, again?”

Twilight grits his teeth so hard his head aches, but perhaps it was already doing that before. He doesn’t deign Legend’s jab with an answer, instead tucking the offending ocarina into his sash. Legend watches him with narrowed eyes. 

“I bet you didn’t do shit,” Legend says. “And someone had to come save your heroic ass because you’re the type to be stupid enough to walk right into a trap.”

Twilight, against his better judgement, flinches. 

Legend’s eyebrows raise, just slightly, a triumphant glint in his eye that he hit the mark. “Right, right. So you definitely proved your worthiness as a hero, and then… let me guess, ran around like a dog on a leash for Hylia’s every whim. You the goddess’ dog, Twi?”

(A cracked mouth hissing by his ear— the scent of water-on-stone in the air— cursed magic wrapping around his bones and tearing — ) 

(“Oh, how I love mindless beasts.” )

“I,” Twilight breathes, something hot and formidable in his throat. “ain’t no dog.” 

Legend grins, lazy and wicked. “You sure about that? From what I can tell, the divinities have collared you good.” 

“Legend.” Twilight growls— the only warning he has the mind to give. 

“What, hit a sore spot?” Legend makes an exaggerated frown, pressing a hand over his heart mockingly. “The truth hurts, rancher, I can tell you that.” 

“An’ what you be?” Twilight spits without thinking. “A li’l bunny? Not all tha’ heroic ‘f ya ask me.” 

Legend bristles. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit about me.” 

“Yeah? Well, I do know tha’ ‘pparently you’s fluffy and prone to runnin’,” Twilight bares his teeth in something that’s more of a threat than a smile. “Ya do tha’ a’lot on you’s adventure? Run?”

“Excuse me for being fucking eleven years old.” Legend snarls, taking a step forward. “And you would know something about that, wouldn’t you? You’re the slipperiest bastard I’ve ever met. So what are you hiding from, Twilight? Face it— you’ve run just as much as I have!” 

Twilight’s head clouds so fast it makes him dizzy. There’s a faint chime of alarm at the speed, but suddenly all Twilight can see is red. His hands shake as he balls them up into fists. 

“You know what,” he growls. “I did run. I ran. ‘N I’ll regret it f’r the rest ‘f my life. But’cha know what I didn’ do? I didn’ keep runnin’! I turned right ‘round when I couldn’ run no more ‘n I made it right. But you, Legend. You keep runnin’. You’s still runnin’. You dunno how t’do nothin’ but turn your back ‘n act like you’s so high ‘n mighty! But you’re the worst ‘f us all ‘n you know it. ”

Legend sets his jaw, shoulders tight. He lunges again, and he goes low before Twilight can compute his movement. Grabbing the collar of Twilight’s shirt, Legend leans forward and slices Twilight’s leg out from under him. 

He’s fast, and that gives him an advantage. But Twilight is heavy, clearly heavier than Legend was expecting, and Legend doesn’t know that Twilight is a goddamned sumo wrestler. 

Twilight slams his hands into Legend’s chest with more force than necessary and throws him back. Legend yelps, pinwheeling for a second before he finds his feet again. 

“Just give me,” Legend huffs. “the fucking ocarina.” 

Twilight, with something dark crawling in his gut (familiar, he’s felt it before, why has he– think —), pulls the ocarina from his sash and drops it to the ground. 

Watching the action as if from outside his body, he slams his heel down. The ceramic cracks easily, the once-beautiful instrument crumbling into three pieces. The sound of it is like ice cracking, cold and final.

Everything around Twilight blinks back into focus, like he wasn’t looking before. Like he wasn’t the one seeing through his eyes. 

The only sound that follows is the wind picking up in Twilight’s ears. Legend stares at the broken ocarina, the off-white pieces looking almost unnatural in the green field. Twilight can’t discern the look in his eyes— not that he cares. His chest is still heaving with something with something hot and messy and Twilight can’t fucking think over the roaring in his head. 

He feels the press of icy fingers on the back of his neck, split-second but unmistakable. 

“You can make it better.” she says, a frozen whisper of breath in his ear.

Twilight flinches. 

He’s forgetting something. Ordona above, he is forgetting something . Something is missing, something that’s causing him to be this on edge, this paranoid— he isn’t acting normal and he knows it but he can’t stop, why can’t he stop, just fucking get it together— 

(“Do it again.” ) 

A chill washes over his skin, sending shivers trembling down to his fingers. He hears that shattering-glass laugh again, echoing out past him. There’s a moment of stillness, like the world is holding its breath. 

Legend looks up at him. His face is eerily blank. 

“Who are you,” Legend asks, and his voice is completely flat. “You’re not real, right? You’re not really Twilight.” 

“Wha’?” Twilight breathes. 

There’s a dagger in Legend’s hand, black as the void and the edge gleaming in the sunlight. Twilight didn’t see him draw it. For a second all he can see is a dark, warped blade above Legend’s chest; the memory is suddenly there, emblazoned behind his eyes. 

Twilight was going to stab Legend. With that same blade. It feels like a dream, almost, the edges of the memory foggy, but Twilight knows.

“Ledge,” he says quickly, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. “Ledge, there’s something—” 

All it takes is an expert flick of the wrist. 

Twilight can’t help the choked noise that escapes him as the dagger thuds into his shoulder, sinking in hilt-deep. His hands fly to it on instinct, warm blood oozing out over his fingers in small streams. 

Legend had just thrown a dagger at him. 

Legend had just stabbed him. 

“How dare you!” Legend nearly shrieks the words, his steps careful and heavy as he moves toward Twilight. “Give him back. Give him back— you think I wouldn’t notice?!” 

Legend is in front of him a moment later, drawing out the dagger with a slow slide that makes Twilight gasp. Twilight’s blood is bright on his fingers. His face is furious, but violet eyes are empty, far-gone— he isn’t looking at Twilight. 

He isn’t seeing Twilight. 

“Legend,” Twilight bites out, keeping one hand on the now weeping stab wound and reaching for the vet with the other. “Ledge—” 

Legend lunges again. Blindly, Twilight snatches Legend’s wrist, holding the hand with the dagger fast. He squeezes, harder and harder, until something in Legend’s wrist pops. His fingers go slack, the dagger tumbling end over end to plummet point-down into the grass. 

Legend gasps, a raw inhale that tears at his chest. His hand is shaking in Twilight’s grasp. When Twilight drags his gaze up to meet his, Legend is there. He’s back, face contorted in horror and eyes brimming in fear. 

He rips away from Twilight, scrambling back so fast his legs buckle. On his knees, he presses his hands to his mouth, eyes locked on the blood staining Twilight’s undertunic before going to the dagger.  

“Oh my god,” he whispers, the sound barely discernible through his fingers. “Oh my god.” 

Distantly, Twilight thinks that he’s never seen Legend this rattled. His gaze drifts downward to follow Legend’s. Something in his head jolts when he focuses on the dagger— the dagger, the bloody dagger, point-down in the grass.

There’s a small yellow flower blooming next to it, petals opening before Twilight’s eyes. 

His head spins. 

Has he been here before? 

He blinks, and Legend is back in front of him, hurriedly digging through his bag with shaking hands. Apparently he can’t find what he’s looking for, because he upends the entire thing a second later, trinkets and weapons and everything in between piling onto the grass. 

“Twi,” Legend says, voice horribly vulnerable. “Twi, I swear I didn’t— I don’t know what— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—’” 

“Breathe,” Twilight tells him. He forces himself to crack a smile, even if he feels hollow. “You could’a aimed fer m’head.” 

Legend does not laugh. Legend, fingers snatching at a roll of bandages, lets out a sound that might be interpreted as an angry sob. 

It’s the first time Twilight has heard anything of the sort from the normally stoic and bite-your-fingers-off veteran, and it pulls at his heart in a way he didn’t expect. 

“Ledge,” he tries. 

“Don’t,” Legend snaps back thickly. “Twilight, I swear to Hylia if you try and make this better—” 

“‘M sorry ‘bout the ocarina,” Twilight breaks in, because he knows it’s important. “‘M sorry ‘bout a lotta things.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Legend says weakly, and Twilight snorts. “It was just a fucking ocarina. Just— just an ocarina, and then something… I thought—” 

Twilight might want to be concerned at the way his vision is fading in and out, but everything is beginning to feel distant. “Wasn’ real,” he mutters in response. “You’s said that.”

Legend freezes, going so still that Twilight’s vision slides out of focus. 

Ordona, he’s tired. 

Twilight closes his eyes. Splatters of red-yellow-pink stain the back of his eyelids. 

Someone is talking to Legend. Twilight can’t quite make out the words, but the voice is there, cloyingly sweet. Legend’s hand wraps around his wrist, cool and sticky and shaking. When Twilight looks, the bright blue sky above making him wince, there’s a bloody handprint on his skin. 

He doesn’t remember anything else. 

Chapter Text

Flashes of green-gold before him, sky blue and piercing overhead. Twilight digs his fingers into the strange warm dirt, the acrid scent of flowers wrapping around his head and squeezing. 

Someone’s scrambling next to him, grass shifting and rustling with their weight. Then hands on his shoulders, tapping on his face, someone’s… talking? 

He cracks his eyes open. He barely manages to trace the outline of their face before a blinding light erupts behind them. It sears into Twilight’s vision, claws its way into his skin, and something inhuman screams in rage. 

There’s the feeling of thorns in his skin, sunken through tendon and muscle and then they’re torn away, ripping through his insides and leaving him gasping in pain. The thorns try to hold on, digging into his very being, trying to drag him down but Twilight reaches— 

And then he’s gone.

When Twilight wakes, he feels strangely heavy, exhaustion pressing him into the dirt. There’s a dull throbbing in the base of his skull, black spots against the back of his eyelids, and he desperately does not want to move. His pelt is heavy where it’s thrown over him, the fur smelling thickly of home. It makes him want to just burrow deeper and never open his eyes again. 

He’s not sure how he got here, exactly. The memory of Warriors beside him is foggy with distance, as if from years past. Twilight knows there’s something else between then and here. For some reason, the thought makes his stomach clench with dread. 

Twilight inhales, breathing continuing to be deep and quiet even as he slowly wakes up more, a light breeze playing with his bangs. A mourning dove calls somewhere, soft and sounding of home. 

He nearly chokes on the sudden, visceral taste of bitter iron on the back of his tongue. 

Someone was bleeding. He remembers. He was bleeding— someone else was bleeding— there was a knife, a knife in his hand, a knife in his shoulder, a knife on the ground. There was an arrow and a messy bedhead and flowers— 

The headache slams into his skull so hard that stars flash in the backs of his eyelids. A whimper leaves his lips at the sudden onslaught, fingers curling tight into his pelt. His stomach turns, and he barely has enough time to roll onto his side before he vomits into the grass. 

Something is wrong. Something was wrong. 

“Hey, hey,” a low voice calls, and for a second all Twilight can see through his spinning vision is that crouched dark figure, cool blue eyes like fire in its head. But he blinks, the sun red as it peeks over the horizon and it’s Sky, his brother, the gentlest person Twilight has ever known. He grounds Twilight with a steady hand on his shoulder, expression just a tad bit wary as his gaze flicks between Twilight’s eyes.

“Woah, rancher,” he continues, just as quiet. It doesn’t really matter, because Twilight’s senses are on high alert, ears twitching as he hears the rustle of leaves on the trees, the lone cracks from a dying fire, the hoot of an owl from miles away. The shifting of the others slowly waking up ring out around him, loud as anything, and he can’t help but flinch when the sound of sharp, tearing breaths split the grey dawn.

Twilight’s own chest is heaving, bile still stinging the back of his throat. He’s tempted to throw up again when the marks of his forehead burn. He curls into a ball, pressing his forehead against his knees, and tries to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

There’s another voice off to the right, floating over the camp in hushed murmurs, something cradling and quiet like the wind. Twilight distantly recognises it as Warriors, and thinks hysterically that they’re being babysat once again. 

… they? 

(Messy bedhead, snapped replies— arrow, hand, arrow, thro— ocarina, ocarina, ocarina—) 

“Ledge.” 

The word leaves Twilight’s mouth without him realising, voice scratchy and pitted. He jerks his head up, blinking away black spots. Getting to his feet is a task he tries and fails, wobbling pitifully before he even makes it to his knees. He can see where Warriors’ pale blond head glints in the first light of day, but he can’t see Legend. Where is Legend? He doesn’t know, he has to know, where is he—

There’s hands on his face, cupping and gentle and vying for his attention. Twilight drags his gaze up, forcing himself to focus on Sky. 

“He’s alright,” the Chosen says softly. The corners of his eyes are tight in concern. “He’s having a panic attack, but Wars is with him. Rough night for you both, huh?” 

The words nearly send him into a fit of hysterical laughter, even though Twilight isn’t sure why. “Somethin’s wrong,” he gasps out instead, wrapping his arms around himself and squeezing. “I can’— I can’t remember— went on f’rever, it went on f’rever—” 

“Pup,” another voice says, low and comforting and familiar. Hands settle on his shoulders, weighing him down under the one-eyed stare that captures his own. Time looks drawn and exhausted, but his eye is soft with worry. “Look at me, Twilight. You’re okay. Wherever you are, you’re okay, you’re safe. We’re all here with you. I promise you’re safe.” 

On the other side of camp, Legend sobs. The sound rips through Twilight’s chest and all he can see are the tears, the tears that gathered in his eyes and smeared through the blood on his cheeks and he was scared, he was scared and Twilight didn’t do anything— 

“Useless, as always.” the words are whispered next to his ear, so visceral that Twilight flinches away and flings his head around. A glint of blue catches his eye, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and then there’s nothing. 

Bits and pieces float around in his head like a whirlwind, refusing to come together. Legend— Legend was there, he thinks, and there was a knife that was somehow in his hand and his shoulder at the same time. And the flowers. The goddamn fucking flowers that mocked him with every step. 

All of it leaves Twilight feeling like he’d woken from a horrific nightmare, like he’d dug his way out of his own grave and left a gasping wreck.

A nightmare. It had to have been a nightmare, because they’re both here and fine and with their brothers, not a second of time missing from when Twilight had first fallen asleep. It’s the only explanation.

Please, Ordona, let it have been a nightmare. 

“‘M okay,” he whispers, letting his head droop. “‘M okay.” 

Time doesn’t leave. He just drops his hands off of Twilight’s shoulder and reaches one out in offering. 

Twilight takes it without even thinking, squeezing his mentor's hand so hard he can feel Time’s pulse beneath his skin. A little fast, maybe, but still just as steady as he is. Twilight holds Time’s hands, closes his eyes, and just breathes. 

He’s okay. Legend is okay. Everything and everyone is okay because it was just a terrible, terrible dream. The sun is rising again anyway, and it will shine on a forest, not a field, and it won’t matter that Twilight’s head hurts because everything will keep going. 

A shaky hand wraps around his free wrist. Twilight peeks his eyes open. 

Legend buries his face in Twilight’s arm. His fingers are pressed to Twilight’s pulse point with a bone-white grip. He’s there for one second, two, and then he’s up and moving away with squared shoulders like he’d just won an argument with Twilight instead of the almost half-hug that had occurred. 

Twilight decides to think about that one when his head stops its rampage.  

He curls his fingers of that hand one at a time, exhaling slowly as he traces his gaze up to where Legend had grabbed him. 

A chill crawls its way down his spine, gnawing and ice-cold. 

There, in the first light of dawn, is a handprint like a brand.

(Legend’s hand wraps around his wrist, cool and sticky and— 

— Twilight looks, the bright blue sky above making him wince, there’s a bloody handprint on his—) 

Twilight’s stomach clenches again and he swallows back the bile. He tears his gaze away, squeezes his eyes shut again, prays to any and every deity he knows that it would go away, go away, go away. 

It doesn’t. 

And when he manages to look away, scanning over their camp of tossing and turning heroes, his eyes catch on one who’s sitting still as the night on his bedroll. His hands are fisted tight in the edge of his undertunic, dark eyes wide and unblinking. Twilight follows his gaze. 

Twilight’s shoulders go rigid so fast his aching head spins. 

Because Wind is staring at Legend like he’s seen a ghost.

Chapter Text

If anything, Twilight’s head hurts more as he shakes off the horror of the night. He groans a bit as he crushes his forehead into his bedroll, letting the pressure of it diminish the same pressure that’s pulsing behind his eyes. The only time he’s had a migraine this bad was from a hangover vicious enough that he’d laid in his basement for about twenty-four hours— before Ilia had found him and practically threw him to the rams. 

“If you’s wanna drink yerself inta a right sorry-ass state, a’least en’ertain the sheep while yer attit.” she’d hollered, and slammed the gate behind her. Needless to say, Twilight never had a drink around her again. 

Time shifts next to him, having watched the sun creep into the sky at Twilight’s side. His hips pop, but Twilight is feeling pathetic enough not to make fun of him for it. 

The camp is subdued as they begin to pack up their things, besides Warriors yawning dramatically every now and then when he prods Legend into getting up. 

“I’m glad you finally decided to sleep, but you’re being slower than Sky,” he complains, followed by a hum of acknowledgement from the Skyloftian still wrapped up in his sailcloth. 

Come the next boot-prodding, Legend, of course, grabs the backs of Warriors’ heels, shoves his feet into Warriors’ hips, and knocks him flat on his back. He uses the momentum of Warriors’ fall to roll onto his own feet, glaring down at the soldier. 

“Up,” he grouses, turning away. Warriors doesn’t even attempt to get up, throwing his arms out to the side and sighing at the sky. 

Twilight mirrors his sigh, shuffling over and offering the captain a hand up. Warriors blinks an eye open at him, carefully lazy as his gaze sweeps over Twilight. 

“You look like shit,” he says kindly. 

Twilight retracts his hand. “I think I’m takin’ a likin’ to coffee this mornin’.” 

Warriors groans. Normally, Twilight gives Warriors his share of their coffee stores since Twilight couldn’t loathe the bitter drink more. Normally, though, Twilight doesn’t have to reconcile with memories of dreams of him trying to kill Legend and vice versa. 

“You look like the best shit I’ve seen today, and I had to wake up Legend.” Warriors amends. 

Twilight glances over his shoulder in fake contemplation, and ends up catching Wind in the act of looking hurriedly away— in Legend’s direction, continuing his stare at the vet like he had a math equation Wind was trying to catch fire to on his back. 

In the hell that was last night, Wind’s face stands stark in Twilight's memory. It was probably the worst expression he’d ever seen on the sailor’s face, stricken and horrified and confused all in one. He hadn’t seen when Wind had wiped it off his features, but he must have, because when Twilight had glanced over after Legend had grabbed his arm the look was gone. 

Except now, Wind is clearly still on edge for a reason entirely unknown to Twilight.

Warriors kicks at Twilight’s leg gently, bringing Twilight’s attention back. He pretends not to see the soft concern flit over the captain’s face before he sticks out a hand and says, “So… coffee?”

Twilight huffs out a weak laugh and hauls him to his feet. 

They set into the forest a half hour later. Twilight trips over about four tree roots in the first ten minutes, each rough jolt sending flares of pain through his head. Hyrule glances back and giggles softly at him every time, though, so that might make it worth it. 

Legend still won’t look at him, but honestly, Twilight’s not sure he’s able to get the vet’s attention anyway. He's not sure he wants to face him holding that dagger above Legend's chest, dream or no. It'd felt real. It'd felt so, so real.

But there was no telling Legend had had even similar nightmares last night. Twilight doesn't know what had sent him into that panic attack; it could be entirely unrelated to that goddess-forsaken field. What would he even say? “So I had this really weird dream last night where we were stuck in this endless field and you died and then came back and tried to kill me, does that ring a bell?”

Twilight cringes at the thought alone. Yeah, and then Legend would look at him like he’s crazy and proceed to tell Twilight just how crazy he is until Sky drags one of them off the other. The whole thing would just end up pissing him off in the end, and he can tell that the others are walking on eggshells around them, watching to make sure he and Legend don't try and murder each other after the high emotion of last night. Time keeps glancing back at them like between one moment and the next they'll have each other on the ground.

Doubtful, really, as Legend's avoiding him like the plague. 

Twilight jumps as Wind appears at his side, curling his fingers into Twilight’s sleeve and pressing his shoulder against Twilight’s arm. He looks just as tired as the rest of them, and Twilight feels a pang of guilt at the sight of Wind’s dark under-eyes. 

But, Ordona, he won’t stop staring. 

“Wind—“ he starts. 

“Legend’s weird today,” Wind says at the same time, his words more careful than they ever are. He turns his head, latching those dark eyes on Twilight’s, and Twilight knows he’s not looking for confirmation. “You are, too.”

For a second, Twilight could swear the hero in front of him is not fourteen years old; instead something ancient twisted into gangly limbs and wild hair. Wind’s fingers are tight in Twilight’s sleeve but not shaking, steady as waves upon a beach as they press against his pulse. He looks like he’s seen worlds apart from his own. He looks like he knows. 

Twilight swallows, throat suddenly dry in the face of this teenage hero. “Gonna hafta be more specific than that, sailor.” 

Wind gives him a very unimpressed look. It doesn’t fit the solemn air. “You both look like you‘ve been flirting with Death herself and she fell for it. So ‘fess the fuck up.”

Twilight frowns, glancing over to where the vet walks on the edge of the group with Hyrule. Legend doesn’t look particularly like he’d tempted death— exhausted, yes, shoulders slumped and the slight limp that sometimes shows itself on his bad days making his boot scuff a bit more. But his cap is firmly in place and there’s no blood, no knife in his hand and no arrow through his throat. 

(look, look, you’re missing something LOOK) 

Twilight snaps his thoughts back fast enough his head spins lightly. “Looks fine t’me.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t do anything,” Wind scoffs. The shadows of the trees alongside them elongate his face strangely, eyes big and unblinking as he looks up at Twilight. “You were going to kill him, weren’t you? I’ve never liked him anyway. He always yells at me like he’s just so much better than me— but we’re all in the same fucking boat, just because of the stupid fairy boy, aren’t we?”

The wind picks up behind Twilight, scattering dried leaves around his feet. It sounds altogether too much like the scraping of bone. 

“Excuse me?” Twilight breathes. 

The corners of his vision fuzz out, the world rattling for a millisecond before Wind looks at him like Twilight insulted his grandmother. “I said, what the hell did you and Legend even do, and on a scale of one to a wet cucco how angry is Time gonna be?”

Twilight stares at him. His ears ring faintly. Vertigo sweeps through him and he almost stumbles, pebbles launching themselves into the underbrush from his boots. Okay , he thinks like a rational fucking person. That was weird. 

Twilight heard Wind so clearly. He can play back the words in his head right now. But Wind’s looking up at him with clear eyes, worry-furrowed eyebrows and a handful of his sleeve, and in the end it’s all Twilight can do to shove it down along with the strange fever-blanked haze of the voices that had whispered to him last night. 

“Didn’ do nothin’,” Twilight says, forcing his feet to fall back into a proper stride. “Jus’ had a weird dream, ‘s all. What’sa fairy boy?”

Wind sticks a finger at him. “Don’t go off topic, rancher, I’m serious. Also: a huh?”

The hairs on the back of Twilight’s neck stand up, goosebumps racing along his arms underneath his tunic.

“A fairy boy,” he repeats, slower, trying to erase his accent despite the chill on his skin. 

Wind’s scowl could send the forest around them aflame. “I can understand you, dumbass, I’m saying I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Okay,” Twilight says, because he has no idea what the hell is going on and his head is a right mess and there’s nothing else to say, really. “Now what were you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Wind rolls his eyes, the action slathered in thrown-on annoyance. He’s looking at Legend again, then back at Twilight, and there’s something terrible in the way he keeps silent for a minute too long. 

Then he’s reaching across Twilight for his other hand, nearly causing him to trip over the smaller sailor. Wind’s grip gravitates to the handprint like the mark has its own vacuum, even covered as it is by Twilight’s sleeve.

“This,” Wind says quietly, and sticks his fingers through Twilight’s wrist.

Oh. Huh. Well, Twilight can’t say he knows all that much about human anatomy and biology, but he’s fairly— ninety percent at least— sure that people’s fingers are not supposed to go through someone’s arm like it’s not even there. 

He doesn’t even feel it, either. One second, Wind’s hand was where it was supposed to be, which is not inside Twilight’s wrist, and then the next second it was. If Twilight hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all that Wind’s fingers had metaphorically but also literally stabbed him— just without the pain and blood part. 

“Hm,” Twilight says. Wind looks at him like it’s not a sane response except Twilight knows it’s not a sane response, but what does Wind want him to do, exactly? Magically make his wrist stained with weird dream-blood more solid than it apparently isn’t?

“Your arm is turning into a fucking ghost,” Wind tells him. 

“That's a new one,” Twilight replies, and it occurs to him that maybe he shouldn’t be speaking while it feels like the ground is farther away than it should be, but he does anyway. “Last time they jus’ done cut it off.”

“What,” Wind says, then shakes his head, pale curls bouncing. “Never mind. Legend’s hands are, like, blotchy-fading too, and you threw up when you got up this morning and Legend had a panic attack, and you won't even look in each other’s direction— don’t think I haven’t noticed that— and you guys are both ghost-ifying like some poe went and stole pieces out of you!” Wind takes a furious breath. “So don’t fucking lie to me, rancher, I’m not a child.” 

Twilight pulls his hand out of Wind’s grip, exhaustion scrabbling under his skin. “There ain’t no shame in bein’ a child, Wind.” 

Wind glares at him, and Twilight masterfully avoids the ankle Wind tries to trip him with. “I am going to murder you and then we’ll see who’s the child— but stop trying to distract me, you motherfu—” 

One of Warriors’ famous earsplitting whistles pierces the air, stopping all conversation as the group halts. Twilight thinks he might see the trees keep moving anyway, but there’s nothing amiss when he glances into the dark maze of trunks. 

Wind groans, sending Twilight a threatening look. Twilight doesn’t deign a response with a look of his own, instead watching Legend as he leans back against a tree. With a flash of violet, Legend catches him in the act of staring, a scowl on his face. It falters, however, when he meets Twilight’s gaze fully. His hand twitches at his side, the hilt of a dagger in his belt gleaming. Twilight’s shoulder aches distantly. 

Twilight raises an innocuous eyebrow at him, pretending Wind’s gaze isn’t burning a hole in the back of his head. Legend, predictably, flips him the bird and turns away. 

“Unfortunately,” Time says when everyone’s in hearing range. “I believe we’re going in circles.” 

Everyone groans. Twilight huffs a sigh; Wind mutters something under his breath about a ‘bitchass forest’ next to him. They wouldn’t be true Links if they didn’t get lost at least once during a switch. 

“It’s most likely intentional,” Time adds with a frown. “Hyrule pointed out to me that there’s more to this forest’s magic than just the natural kind, which I myself should’ve noticed sooner. Whether it’s a specific enchantment or just the forest’s own magic, I can’t say.”

“So the magical forest is trapping us,” Legend deadpans, bonking his head back against the trunk of the tree he’s leaning on. He’s clearly undisturbed by the fact that said trees were just revealed as magical. “Lovely. Should’ve expected that one, honestly.” 

Something deep in the woods beyond clatters hollowly, faint even to Twilight’s ears. Click. Clatter. Clack. Wood on wood on wood. 

In the corner of his eye, Legend flinches. 

“Oh, my toys,” someone says in a whisper, right next to Twilight’s head, hot breath on his ear. He whirls only to find Sky, smiling pleasantly. “They’re coming!”

Twilight’s ears ring, ring, ring. Wind’s grip on his wrist droops like his fingers forgot to listen to his brain, going slack.  

Sky’s brow furrows a second later, shaking himself like he’s warding off an impending doze. Something about Twilight’s face must be wrong— it feels wrong— because Sky’s eyes widen a bit. Wind’s hand fixes itself. 

“Twi?” Sky asks, carefully concerned. The silence drags on like nails on skin, and the only thing Twilight is sure of is that Legend is completely, utterly still behind him. 

Fool me once, Twilight thinks. 

“There’s something in the woods.”

It’s not his voice who says it. When he glances over his shoulder, Legend has one ring-laden hand braced on the tree as he peers past the trunk. His knuckles are white against the bark. 

Something flies out of the underbrush. 

Twilight’s moving before he even registers what he’s doing, lunging toward Legend and yanking him out of the way hard enough that they both stumble. Twilight’s heart is in his throat as he watches the stick— the stick?— thwack into Time’s shin and scatter dirt when it falls. 

Twilight’s lungs feel frozen. There’s a roaring in his head that seems to go from quiet to loud to quiet again as their group realises what just happened. 

Wind bursts into high-pitched laughter, the giggles seeming to echo discordantly in their space. Legend scowls at Twilight, forcibly removing Twilight’s iron grip from his arm. “Thank you for saving my life,” he drawls. 

Twilight stares at the stick, peeling on one end and bark hanging off it in places. He doesn’t think he was imagining that flash of fear in Legend’s eyes when he saw the object, all too reminiscent of the fear in his eyes when he had died last night in Twilight’s dream. Twilight did never find out what the vet was trying to say as he bled out. 

A hand claps him on the shoulder; Twilight forces down a flinch. “Aw, we all had that instinct,” Warriors says good-naturedly, amusement in his tone. “A stick can be deadly, you know, especially against noble cactuses. You’re lucky rancher here has good reflexes!”

Legend squints at him, apparently more confused than annoyed. “Did you just call me a cactus?” He considers, conjuring up the proper indignance. “Also, you’re just as much of a ‘city-slicker’ as me, dumbass.” he imitates Twilight’s accent on ‘city-slicker’, pulling out the vowels dramatically.

Twilight raises his eyebrows. He sees Time suppressing a smile behind Warriors, and turns the look on his mentor. Time begins trying harder, and Twilight rolls his eyes at him. 

“Wars’ll show his true colours ‘ventually,” Twilight muses. Warriors sends him an alarmed look. “I think Time’s got some thoughts on this here matter, don’tcha, Time?”

“I have not one singular thought, no,” Time says with a perfectly straight face. 

“Bullshit,” Legend scoffs, though he looks genuinely like he’s trying not to laugh. It’s a good expression on him, Twilight thinks with a small pang. It makes him look more his age. “I know Warriors’ accent is a front. You can stop faking it, we all know you’re shit at it.” 

Twilight coughs into his hand, smothering a chuckle. Warriors sends him a slitted-eyed look. “Is this insanity your doing, farm boy?”

Twilight raises his hands in defence. “I ain’t said nothin’.” 

Then, with a jolt that races ice up his spine, Twilight remembers he had.  

In the dream. On his first loop– the very first. He’d almost forgotten bickering teasingly with Legend that first time. It feels foggy, the stitches of it all uneven, but it was there. Legend had said, “You’re helping me expose him.” And then Legend had tried to get under his skin. And then they realised they were trapped. And then Twilight woke up again at the beginning and everything got worse and worse from there. 

Legend is looking at him. There’s realisation in his eyes, dread in the furrow of his brow. He’s wondering. 

Nausea roils in Twilight’s gut. He thinks he might already know the answer. 

“All I said,” he continues, trying to keep up his jovial tone while he tries to remember what he told Legend in that fabrication of reality, “‘s that when ya get someone madder th’n a wet hen things become clear as day, ‘s all.”

Awkward silence fills the air between their group as Legend doesn’t pick up on the banter. He stares at Twilight, something like mounting horror on his face. Twilight stares back, waiting. Challenging. Real or not real? 

“I spy with my little eye something blue,” Legend says. 

Twilight feels like his hands should be shaking, but he can’t tell if they really are or not. Maybe it’s just him, maybe it’s just his insides, maybe it's the whole world. 

“The sky,” he says. 

Legend stares at him. He brings a hand to his face for a second, then his bangs, tugging harshly. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens and closes again, digging his fingernails into his scalp.

Twilight himself just kind of wants to sit down and cry. He wonders if he will break under the weight of this intangible, all too real thing. He’s exhausted already. 

It hadn’t been just a nightmare. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’d known that all along.

“Well,” Legend says. “Fuck.”

Click. Clatter. Clack. 

Wood on wood on wood. Hollow and sliding, like wind through old branches. The smell of rotting trees slips into the air, of leaves decomposing, of something born of decay. 

(“There’s something in the woods.”)

Twilight knows that sound.

Chapter Text

The first puppet appears an inch from Twilight’s face. 

Without wasting a second, he rears his fist back and smashes it into its wooden head, sending it rattling and spinning. Legend shouts in surprise, but when Twilight turns, he’s already burying a dagger into another puppet’s chest. It chitters angrily, outstretched arms twitching, but disappears in a swirl of leaves when Legend stabs it again. 

Four more skitter out of the trees, twisting heads painted with grins and red eyes gleaming. One swipes an overly long arm at Time, but it barely leaves a scratch on his armour. He shoves a shoulder against it, tossing it back, before stomping a foot onto its hollow torso. It cracks, and Time stomps again to shatter it. 

“What are these?!” Four hollers, lopping off another’s head. 

“Puppets!” Twilight yells back. 

A series of groans follows, which he would find funny if he didn’t feel like his stomach has dropped out through his feet. He grits his teeth, straining his ears, but for the life of him he can’t hear the song. There was always the song before— that’s how the little gremlin controlled them— but he can’t hear anything.  

He turns, sword now in hand, to see one of the demonic wooden creatures sliding up behind Wind. The sailor is standing perfectly still, head tilted, apparently deaf to the rattling puppet coming to take his head off as he watches Warriors kick the otherwise last one into a tree. 

“Wind, behind!” Twilight calls, causing Warriors to turn, but not Wind. 

He just stares at Twilight, blank-faced. For a second, his dark eyes look glassy and lifeless, so void-like that time seems to slow around Twilight. He freezes mid-step. Wrong, his instincts hiss. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

The puppet reaches, stretching towards the back of Wind’s head. Twilight’s head roars alongside the pounding of his heart and he does the first thing he thinks of: he throws his sword. 

The blade slams into the puppet's head enough to knock it off its shoulders. Warriors takes off the arm reaching for Wind a quarter of a second later. 

Cold air nips at Twilight’s cheeks in the silence. The trees creak overhead, watching, and Twilight has to shake off the feeling of eyes on his back as he goes to retrieve his sword. 

“What was that?” Warriors demands of Wind, grabbing the sailor's shoulder and spinning him around. “When someone says behind, it means behind!”

Twilight can see Wind trembling under Warriors’ grip. His eyes are wide and he looks the most unsettled Twilight has ever seen him look; there’s more colour in the monotone sky above than in his face. His chest heaves and heaves like he’s not getting enough air. 

Warriors’ grip goes slack as he notices, concerned gaze glancing to Twilight. “Wind—”

“Shut up!” Wind yells. His hands smack Warriors’ chest to throw him off, and Warriors releases him with a cautious step back.

Wind covers both of his ears with pale hands and squeezes until Twilight can see the white of his knuckles. “Shut up, shut up, can’t you hear it?” 

Warriors goes still. He looks at Time with one of those glances that seems to be just for the two of them, a sharing of secrets that Twilight doesn’t understand. Wind keeps his hands over his ears, his eyes angry and scared and red-rimmed. He had been tilting his head earlier like he’d been listening. 

“Wind,” Twilight says, his name a rush of breath because oh . He moves in front of Warriors as he drops to a knee in front of the kid, not caring about the damp leaves that leech water into his pants. “Can you hear it? The song?” 

Wind’s gaze snaps to Twilight’s. His hands are still shaking. “It’s loud and quiet,” he says, voice a near whisper. “It’s— I can’t hear—”

“Hum it for me,” Twilight suggests. 

Wind squeezes his eyes shut. He’s silent for a moment in which Twilight can hear the combined thumping of their hearts, just an off beat from each other, before he starts. 

It’s a lilting melody, the notes waving up and down and back around again. It’s slow and heavy in a way Twilight can’t explain but is still very well acquainted with. The feeling of eyes focused on him makes him twitch.  

“That damn spirit,” Twilight growls. 

He hauls himself to his feet, uncaring of the way the wood wavers around him. It’s muscle memory to reach for the Twili crystal, but he freezes before he can touch it. They don’t know. The heroes don’t know yet what other body he inhabits. Except does he have a choice? He has to find him or else the puppets will just keep coming. They’re easy enough to kill, but their numbers have crippled Twilight before when he wasn’t fast enough. 

A hand lands on his shoulder. Twilight first thinks to look for Legend, though he’s clearly visible still at the edge of their group. Time’s grip doesn’t let up. 

His mouth is drawn in a tight line when Twilight glances at him. His closed eye has fallen into shadow, darkness outlining it and casting a resemblance to the empty skull Twilight had met Time as.

“Explain,” Time says. His voice is sterner than Twilight’s ever heard it. 

In the distance, underbrush rustles again. Legend’s head jerks towards it oddly before looking again towards Twilight. The vet shouldn’t have been able to hear that, but him and Wind are both staring, staring and nothing else seems to be real. 

“We must be in the Lost Woods,” Twilight breathes. “We hafta be, else it wouldn’ be here. I dunno ‘f it’s gotta name or nothin’ but some forest spirit summons them puppets with its pipes. I can’t hear ‘em for whatever reason, ‘cept Wind can.” 

“Forest spirit?” Time repeats slowly. “In the Lost Woods?” 

Twilight, still not quite sure what he’s doing, gestures vaguely towards his head. “‘S gotta poin’y hat on, a lantern, an’ a grin like a devil. Won’ stop summonin’ them puppets ‘til we catch it.” 

As if on cue, the rustle comes again, loud enough for all of them to hear it. The clack-clack-clack of wooden limbs haunts the air. Legend swears low under his breath. 

“It uses that song,” Time clarifies, though it doesn’t sound like a question. His shoulders are riddled with tension. His hand is tight on his sword hilt. 

“Ev’ry time,” Twilight murmurs. He’s more focused on trying to hear the damn song, but there’s only the trees and wind— a forest full of nothing. The silence peels at him like fingernails on his skin. 

The puppets emerge again, six this time. The first two go down with arrows through their wooden skulls, closely followed by Warriors lunging at a third. 

Blue-fire eyes burn in Twilight’s peripherals. He whirls, but there’s only Wind, hands still over his ears. 

Twilight elbows a puppet that looms too close to his shoulder. He rounds Wind in a protective circle, unsure what else to really do without the song.

“Wind!” he shouts over the noise of splintering wood. “Where’s the music comin’ from?!” 

He freezes in place when he sees the tears on the sailor’s face. 

The knees of Twilight’s pants are still damp as he kneels a second time, cupping Wind’s face in his hands. The fight has gone dead around them. Twilight can feel every nerve in his body anyway, stretched tight and anticipatory. They’ll be back.

“Wind,” he says again, going softer this time. 

Wind stares right through him. 

The sky folds in on itself overhead, the branches of every tree reaching for Twilight as he realises it’s the same stare Legend had before he stabbed him. 

Twilight shakes him slightly, but his dark gaze remains fathomless. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, what’s happening at all, where the line is between what he’s touching and what he’s feeling. There has to be a way out. He has to get Wind—

“Get out,” Wind whispers like he’d read Twilight’s mind. 

“Legend,” Twilight says, not moving his gaze a centimetre away from Wind’s face. 

“Get out!” 

Wind screams the words, the echo smothered unnaturally among the leaves. Twilight jerks from the sheer volume as Wind lifts a hand a slams a fist to his own temple, again and again and again. He hasn’t stopped crying. He hasn’t blinked. 

“Get out, get out, get out, get out get out get out GET OUT–” 

Twilight grabs Wind’s hands. Wind fights against his grip so hard that Twilight has to use more strength than he ever would on one of his brothers, trying to keep Wind from pulling the hair out of his scalp.  

The others are crowding now, Warriors with his hands on Wind’s shoulders and Sky looking sick behind him. Hyrule is rushing for them from where the puppets had split them up throughout the trees, panic etched into the air around him. 

It’s there that time seems to slow: Hyrule, running— Warriors helping hold Wind down— a glimpse of Legend’s red tunic just in Twilight’s peripherals, barely there, barely in reach. 

Wind stills so abruptly his knees buckle. His hand, fingers splayed wide and open-palmed, slams into the centre of Twilight’s forehead. 

He tries to gasp, but he's already gone.

When Twilight wakes, he feels strangely heavy, exhaustion pressing him into the dirt. There’s a dull throbbing in the base of his skull, black spots against the back of his eyelids, and he desperately does not want to move. His pelt is heavy where it’s thrown over him, the fur smelling thickly of home. It makes him want to just burrow deeper and never open his eyes again. 

He’s not sure how he got here, exactly, but the sky is barely greying and  mourning dove calls somewhere, soft and lulling. Twilight lets his eyes fall shut again. 

Everything is quiet and simple swathes of colour; he almost doesn’t notice when a foot nudges his side. Twilight peers up through his eyelashes at Warriors. 

“I’m glad you finally decided to sleep, but you’re being slower than Sky,” the captain complains through a light smile. 

“Huh,” Twilight mumbles back. When he properly opens his eyes to look at the sky again, the sudden expanse of day-bright blue is nearly shocking. For the moment, he can’t seem to see anything else.

Warriors is still smiling. He nudges Twilight again. “Up and at ‘em. There’s coffee, but only for the productive.”

Twilight hums. The sky is so blue, so bright it almost looks like it flickers like fire. He can’t remember when his head wasn’t hurting. He wonders how long he was asleep for everything to be this hazy. 

“What is it that they say? Wakey wakey?” Warriors shakes his head a little, stepping away. 

A dusted-pink flower is in the grass where his boot once was. Despite this, it looks untouched. 

“Fuck,” Twilight whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”

Warriors is still smiling. His eyes are the same colour as the sky— burning, burning, burning. 

“Oh,” he says, but it’s a child’s voice. It doesn’t sound like it’s fitting with his vocal cords quite right. “That was fast.” 

The air between them is stretched tight, the silence made of the type of quiet that comes after a scream. Twilight’s fingernails dig into the dirt as he pushes himself up to his feet. The longer he stares at Warriors, the easier it is to see this isn’t Warriors at all. 

His hair is the wrong texture, the blond shade too sodden. His jaw is more square than it should be and his teeth are perfect instead of the one to the right of the front being a bit crooked. He is tapping his fingers incessantly on this thigh. 

“Who are you,” Twilight breathes before it registers to him that he doesn’t have a weapon. He cares less than he probably should.

The creature tilts its head. It seems to give up on play-acting his brother; the skin of its face begins to curl in on itself oddly, patterning into a swirling, melting mess. 

“Ask your fairy boy,” it purrs.