Vitaly's Hcs

  It’s hard to miss when Warriors is gearing up for a mission. 

  Thers’s this certain air about the man, a lack of the warmth and ease with which he treats the group. Instead of twinkling eyes and warm smiles, there’s a distance behind bright blue, a guarded way that he holds himself, a certain set to his jaw and stillness to his hands, like he’s steeling himself to walk out into hell yet again and face the flames. Wind had seen it a lot during the war, and while he doesn’t see it often anymore now that the Chain of Links has gathered, he still knows it in the blink of an eye. 

  So, when the group of them land in the captain’s era, once again, and their second night there sees the captain adopting that air, it’s a sure sign, to him at least, that there is some task needing completion. He’s not the only one who sees it either. When Warriors returns from his meeting with the princess, eyes hard and with not even a word of greeting for the rest of them before he moves for his things, most of them look up. 

  “Everything alright?” It's sort of strange that it’s Legend who asks that, sitting up from the couch and his book to stare at the captain, his own shoulders stiffening, ears pricking forwards, but then again, the vet is highly attuned to nearly everything, or so it seems. 

  The captain hums somewhat but doesn’t verbalize an answer. No, instead, a blue streak of light buzzes out from his scarf to do that for him, startling most of them but all too familiar to the sailor and their leader. “Link has a mission tonight and will not be able to stay with you all,” Proxi announces. 

  The rest of them move to get up but the captain turns from where he was gathering his things, one hand raised to the rest of them. “No need to get up. You’re all staying here.” 

  The vet’s brows raise. 

  “This isn’t monster related,” Warriors tells them, belting his sword over one shoulder rather than at his hip as he wears it about the castle. “Just military work.”   

  That seems to be enough for the rest of them, and even though Legend does give the man a brief once over, he follows the lead of the rest in settling back in their places. None of them really go back to what they were doing though, instead watching the captain curiously. Well, except for Wind. 

 “I’m coming with,” he announces, standing up and moving to stand at the captain’s side, his normal place since meeting the man. During the war, he and Mask had been the captain’s shadows, on his tail and watching his back no matter where it took them, even if that meant following him into the most terrible of battles. There were times, of course, where they had orders to attend to issues on other parts of the field, inside the fort or tending something in camp, but the idea of Warriors going out into anything without having one of his two charges aiding him somehow is unthinkable. 

  Not so for the captain it would seem, a heavy hand settling on the sailor’s shoulder as distant eyes fix on him. “No, not this time, kiddo.” 

  “What?” 

  The soldier’s stare is heavy, hand heavier as it claps his shoulder once before lifting, the heavy scarf the other wears being pulled free and set aside in favor of a cloak and hood that the man pulls on, fabric hanging low over his face. “This isn’t a mission you can help with.” 

 “But-” 

  “No, sailor.” Warriors’ voice is hard, but not harsh. “I need you to stay here, can you do that?” 

  The expression on his face must betray frustration, maybe his confusion too; Warriors hardly ever tells him to stay behind, not ever so directly and never without some other order or responsibility: take care of Mask, protect Marin, watch the prisoners, keep lookout. Being left with nothing is new, and he doesn't like it. Warriors must see that, because he drops to kneeling, which honestly feels a little degrading because Wind isn’t that short anymore, but when heavy hands find his shoulders, his focus is fixed on blue eyes, flickering briefly to the faint scars that still crisscross over them.  

  “This isn’t something you can help with, and I wouldn’t feel right dragging you into this.” 

  “What is it?” he demands, not liking the tone or the situation. 

  Warriors just smiles, not a real smile, but a guarded little thing that says he knows what the sailor is up to, and that he won’t be tricked into sharing anything more than he intends to about what his job will be entailing this time. “I need you to stay here and stay out of trouble, can you do that for me?” 

  Staying out of trouble isn’t doing anything though. 

  “Link,” he doesn’t realize his face has dropped until one callused finger is hooking under his chin and lifting it to meet the captain’s stare. The man’s bangs are a mess, and already they’re starting to slip over his eyes. “Promise me you’ll wait here?” Saying no to that earnest look is nearly impossible, not when Warriors has dropped the soldier stance, has dropped the grace and strength and is just staring, hopeful and worried and so, so tired, up at him.  

“Okay.” 

  “Promise?” The stare shifts, guarded, wary, knowing how often he’d be tricked by some wordplay from their little fairy-boy. 

  “Promise,” he agrees, hating the word even as it slips out of him. Still, it earns that thankful little smile as the captain pulls himself up to stand again, reaching briefly to the side for a shield, not his usual one, but a darker colored one like the royal guard uses.  

  “I’ll be back,” he can see the captain’s walls raising, guard slipping up again and sharp eyes going cold as responsibility settles over broad shoulders like a heavy cloak, “probably.” The little smile does nothing for his worry. 

  “I’ll be here,” he sighs, watching and useless as the other moves for the door. 

  A raised hand is the farewell for the rest of them, and well wishes sound from the rest of their brothers, all worried and tense, but equally unable to do anything as the captain bids them a goodnight and then leaves. He hates it. He hates watching the older man leave, heading out to face things he has no clue about. Meanwhile, they will sit here in the castle, in the rooms the princess had appointed for them, comfortable and warm, safely resting in soft beds and enjoying warm meals while the captain is out there, alone. It makes his stomach turn. 

  Despite all that though, the others return to their own matters, speaking softly with each other in worry or letting their books and hobbies distract them. Wind can’t though. Instead, he finds himself watching the door until Time’s hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy but not the same steady, firm grip as the captain uses, draws his eyes up to the man looking down at him. “You alright?” 

  He shrugs it off, heading away to the room he’s sharing with Four and Hyrule. “’m fine.” 

  He doesn’t doubt that they don’t believe him, not anymore than he actually believes those faked smiles and confidence from the captain. 

- 

  He tries to sleep that night, he really does. 

  It was past dinner when the captain had set off, and they’d all already shed their gear and weapons for the day as they’d prepared to wind down, hence why Warriors leaving at such an hour came as that much of a surprise. Warriors works by day, in the open, in the light, guiding his men and leading the way for Hyrule as a whole; their beacon of hope and strength. Matters of the night, of the shadows, fall under Impa’s purview, the Sheikah being the ones to creep about and tend to matters out of the sight of the kingdom, quiet and un-noticed, unheard, unseen. 

  He doesn’t understand why Warriors would have to set out at such a late hour, but it bugs him. Even after Sky has come to check and make sure that they’re all settled for bed, even after Hyrule and Four have both long since dozed off, he’s left lying awake, staring out the window into the dark sky. It’s overcast, although not raining, nor will it rain anytime soon, he thinks. Still, there's no sight of the stars, and the moon drifts in and out from behind the heavy clouds, making shadows flicker and fall, only to spring to life again over the bedspread, the floor, the walls. 

  He knows Warriors is capable. He knows the captain had faced his adventure with all the strength a hero must, and that, unlike himself, the older man was chosen by the Triforce of Courage, hand-picked by the goddesses to wield the Blade of Evil’s Bane. Still, even with that, he feels uneasy, knowing the captain is out there somewhere right now, without any of them to back him up and doing Nayru only knows what. 

  He rolls over. Staring at the dark room makes it worse. 

  When the war was over, Warriors had let both he and ask sleep with him, as none of them felt easy about sleeping alone after everything, and it was no secret that Link didn’t sleep easy if he didn’t have someone to watch his back. The dark circles under his eyes most of the time told anyone who saw that the man hardly slept as was, but having his two charges close, safe, where he only needed to wake up to see them, seemed to help. Mask’s uncannily good hearing made up for their loss of hearing from cannons lasting off beside them, and at the smallest hint of danger, the youngest would be up and hissing at them to wake up too, like a little guard dog. 

  He’d suggested Link get a dog, when it came time for them to leave, but he doesn’t know if anything ever came of that. He hadn’t asked. 

  Regardless, trying to sleep in the big bed, Four beside him and Hyrule curled up at the bottom (where neither of them are likely to touch him), isn’t the same as curling up, safe, in the captain’s strong arms, or even with Mask in his own. It feels wrong, being in the castle without Link, and staring at the fading and returning shadows, the silent room, the grand furniture and thick rug, it sets him ill at ease. 

  Link could be in danger right now, and he’s lying safely in bed, unable to do anything about it. 

  He promised, but his mind flickers back to all the times he hadn’t been at the man’s side. The time a camp doctor had tried to put an end to the war by killing his own patient, leaving Warriors blind for the next week until Lana had been able to heal him. The time the fort on the far side of Hyrule Field had fallen, and the next he’d seen either the captain or Mask, it was with Link clutching ahold of the dust covered youngest hero, shaking and too relieved to speak after the walls had nearly crushed the kid. There was the time he’d charged off ahead, confident he could take on Cia, and the next time either of them had seen him, Link had been listless, wary, and flinched at the slightest of touches. 

   Everyone refused to explain to him what happened, and even now the older man won’t speak of it, not to him at least. He knows it was bad though, because the man he so admired, looked up to, and even saw as a father had never been the same since. 

  There were other times; battles, missions, scouting expeditions. He’s long since learned every scar that traces the other’s skin, so used to helping patch him up, but half of them happened when he wasn't there, couldn’t help. He'd hated it, standing back and watching the captain sew himself back together, no longer willing to risk visiting a doctor or proper medic, and not knowing what had happened, not being told because Link didn't want to burden him. He’d promised himself if he could stop it, he would, but he’d never had the chance. 

  Now though, lying in the dark, the thought hits him that he can. He can go out there, and the captain wouldn't ever have to know. He could creep out and track them down, watch from a distance and, if needed, take out an enemy or two. He could watch their backs, cover their steps, make sure whatever mission has taken the man away from him doesn't return him in yet more shattered pieces. 

  Warriors would never have to know. 

  Mind set, he slips out of bed, shifting a pillow to fill the abandoned place he leaves behind, just in case Four reaches out in his sleep, like he does, seeking another person to cuddle with. He tucks the blankets too, so no draft will sneak beneath, and then he’s padding softly to the chair he’d set his things. He doesn't have a heavy cloak, not like the captain or the others, but the scarf left hanging by the door works as well as one to hide him, and while the color stands out more than the cloak it was traded for, it’s a lot better than the pale blue of his own tunic. 

 Wrapped tight and moving quietly, it doesn't take too much work to sneak past the guards patrolling the halls. He’d only lived in the castle for a short while, but while Link had been tending to papers and reports and meetings, he and Mask had spent their days mapping the little passages and corridors that spiderwebbed through the stone, and he’s able to make it outside without so much as a glance from the staff. Finding the captain is another issue, but he’d paused in the man’s office, picking the lock briefly and turning his attention to the papers left on the man’s desk.  

  Reports of activity amongst a rebel cell that’s established itself in the city had been on the top of the pile. He can’t read all of it, but he understands enough to know that, likely as not, the captain has gone out to meet with planted spies to gather information, as well as potentially intercept a messenger, whom, based off the file, Impa seems rather eager to get ahold of. He doesn’t read much more than that, just scans the papers for any hint of a location, a time, anything at all, before sneaking out and heading down the streets.  

It being a city, Castle Town doesn’t sleep at night. Most honest folk have gone off to bed, but pub regulars are out at their chosen haunts or cast out into the streets, and travelers headed in or out of town, returning patrols of soldiers, and the occasional merchant headed home still populate the streets. Kids sneaking out from their homes, working girls, petty thieves and the occasional sheikah lurk in the shadows, but his size marks him neither threat nor target to them, and he’s left alone as he heads towards the rougher side of town. 

  Pidgeon Row, officially known as the south gate district but nicknamed what it is for the jailbirds that live there, is quiet at this time of night. If anyone is out, they keep their heads down and shuffle between houses and establishments. The exceptions are the occasional drunk, but again, he goes unseen, flitting about on top of roof-tops as he does. 

  Link told him and Mask once, back before things took a turn for the worse, how he and his friends would sneak around this part of town when they were kids. Gassun would whisper about the antics and Bav would shudder while describing the residents back in their day, but Link would be all mischief and grins as he’d share about roof hopping and “spying missions”. The stories were more about what they got up too, but he’d picked up bits and pieces from the three of them about how to navigate the town, how to watch your step and calculate a leap between roofs. They used to argue about technique mid-way through the stories, and he thinks he’d learned more about how to creep about unseen from those tales then he actually did about the captain’s childhood. 

  It’s only those stories that allow him to recognize the captain though, the man’s lanky frame jumping across an alley just to his left, slipping down with all the ease of a cat into the street. If not for the dark cloak he remembers seeing Link don before leaving, or the briefest flash of messy blonde, he wouldn’t know the man, but as he closes in, he sees the faintest flash of blue eyes, and though the manner, stance and general air of the other is nothing like the noble captain he knows, the voice that speaks into the darkness is definitely his. 

 “Oy, pidge, ‘s me.” The heavy accent he only ever hears hints of it fully on display, masking the voice the rest of the world would know, blending the captain in with his surroundings as much as the old clothes and guarded, defensive stance does. 

  Another man slips out of the shadows, far more bulky and less agile looking, but if planted by the sheikah, Wind doesn’t doubt their skill or speed. “Chess,” he greets. 

  “Wheesht!” The captain hisses, glancing around fervently like he’s afraid of something, but to anyone who knows him, it’s clearly an act, one to make him blend in with the other street rats and jailbirds that will be out and about. The captain doesn’t need to look to know if an enemy is there, and he most certainly would not be so obvious about it if he did. “D’ya want all Hyrule hearin’ ya noo? Wut I say ‘boot names?” 

  The other man twitches, put out, or pretending to be, but drops his voice low enough that Wind’s ears can't catch what’s said between them any longer. That doesn’t matter though, because the captain seems pretty intent on it, and definitely notes down anything of importance. From his rooftop, Wind can see them easily, although he doesn’t dare move closer lest they realize he’s there, but their conversation isn’t the only one of its kind happening in this part of town right now. In fact, he can clearly see another a few alleys over, two men trading something between themselves, looking over their shoulders all the while and speaking in hushed tones. As far as the residents are concerned, the captain is just another low life meeting to buy or sell goods, and not likely to draw attention from anyone who wants to keep their head down. Honestly, Wind would be impressed with the act if he didn’t know the captain grew up around here and thus isn’t acting so much as slipping back into old behaviors and habits in order to blend in. 

That said, he’s not sure why the man was so insistent on his staying behind. So far, nothing dangerous seems to have happened, and while there was definitely time between the captain leaving the castle and then arriving here, he seems no worse for wear, or any more strained than he’s pretending to be. Why leave behind his little shadow when Wind is clearly doing a fine job of watching his back and also going unseen? Even by the captain himself? 

Needless to say, he’s a bit miffed, but he keeps his head down all the same.  

Link pays his contact and slips away, not on the roofs this time (thank goodness, because he’s definitely quicker than Wind) but down the streets, side eyeing anyone who moves too close to him as he hurries along. You’d think, not being a known face, they’d stop him, but Wind supposes new faces are normal now, in this district, what with the city still such a mess as they recover after the war. Regardless, the captain is allowed to pass, and Wind slips after him, watching from the roof-tops but hanging back far enough to not set off the man’s warning bells. 

When Link slips into a pub, he lingers for only a moment. 

On one hand, Warriors isn’t known for taking it easy with the alcohol, but on the other, this is a mission, he’s probably not even going to actually drink, and if he does, it will be for cover and cover only, and not anything as strong as he usually would go for. Still, letting the man go into a bar doesn’t sit right with him. 

Following after is his downfall. 

He doesn’t go for the doors, he knows better than that. No one in Castletown lets teens drink, and the only kids allowed in bars are usually the ones whose parents are such regulars that they need help getting home at night. The thought makes him wonder if the barkeep here will recognize the captain as the kid who used to come at closing for his old man, but he dismisses that thought, he has a mission to fulfill after all. Anyways, Warriors lived a bit further out in Tater Town, and if his dad had come to this bar, it wouldn’t have been frequent enough for people here to recognize him or his son. 

Door not being an option, the window is the second-best choice. He slips for the one upstairs, less likely to be seen, but of course, of course, the room is occupied. Worse still, it’s very occupied, and the people in it take one look at him, one look at the scarf he’s all bundled up under, and sharp smiles and even sharper knives appear in an instant. 

Well, shit. 

He immediately moves to drop back out the window again, but one of the men is faster, catching hold of the scarf wrapped around him and somehow, getting the thing enough over his mouth that he can’t even call out for help, can’t make a sound to alert anyone downstairs that something is wrong up here. If anything, the faint groans and shuffling will be disregarded, considering what sort of a bar this is, and not even Link will think to check up here. 

“Isn’t this the hero’s scarf?” One man murmurs to another. Even from downstairs, Legend would have caught that, but Legend’s not here and neither are the others. No one can act as the captain’s ears right now, and Wind’s left only able to flail against large hands that catch hold of him and keep him still while the rest stare at him. 

“Seems like,” another of the men hums, “wrong size though.” 

“’t’s one of his brats,” another figure murmurs, giving Wind a once over. "Why he’s here though...” 

“They don’t never leave his side,” a wary glance from one to another of the men in the room, and the breath in his lungs drains all too quickly at their words. Shit, they’ve put it together, haven’t they? Is Link a good enough as an actor to fool these men? He’s shit when put on the spot, even if he can play into parts of himself that already exist, as proved with the street-rat “act”, but will he be able to blend in enough that out of all the potential blondes downstairs, they won’t realize it’s him? 

One of the other men frowns though. “That’s as may be, but at that age I wasn’t ‘xactly tied to me da’s belt.” Raised brows and curious stares turn on the man who had spoken, and he quickly explains. “He’s what, fourteen? It’s a pub, mates. Seedy side of town where his da won’t look?” 

There’s a snort from the first speaker. “Sneakin’ out, was you?” Dark eyes fix on him, grinning some as he’s given yet another once over. “Yeah, me too at that age.” 

And while it’s well and good that they believe he’s just having his rebellious streak (and a small part of him whispers that they’re not wrong), the fact that they’re holding this tight to him, gagging him on the scarf, means that they don’t have the best of intentions either. No one’s first instinct when seeing a kid is to try and stop them getting away, not unless they have ill intent or something seriously wrong with their minds. The fact that the scarf, and the captain, matter so much to them doesn’t mean anything good either. 

His thoughts flicker back to that report on Link’s desk. Gods, he hopes these men aren’t part of that rebel cell, or he’s screwed. 

- 

It’s official: he’s screwed. 

The men had gagged and bound him, stripping away the scarf quickly in order to do so, and then left him in a corner for a good while. Murmured conversation of “not lettin’ the kid hear” had led to most of them leaving the room, but one or two had stayed, carefully not close enough for him to touch and both with their eyes on him while they traded boring stories and terrible jokes in an effort to smother any noise he did manage to make. That, or maybe to stop him hearing the talking in the next room, but it’s not until the bar downstairs goes quiet that the rest come back in. 

And then it starts.  

Questions, demanding on where Link is, what he’s doing out here, was he alone? The fact that they ungagged him long enough to ask says there's not a chance that anyone not within their group is around anymore, and he doubts the captain lingered any longer than he had to complete his mission. 

Link will be long gone, so he’s at least able to be truthful when he says he has no clue where the man is, even when pressed.  

“He said he’d be working late,” he tells them, trying to wriggle out of the knots at his wrists but finding very quickly that they’re a lot tighter than he’d like. Still, he plays into the alibi they’d practically handed him. “I thought I could just sneak out for a bit.” 

“Really?”  

And while they’d come up with it themselves, they still press and push. The questions about the hero’s whereabouts quickly turn into questions on what Link’s been doing, where he’s been, who he’s met with and all sorts of other things. They don’t take his petulant “I don’t know” as an answer either. It seems he’s not the only one fixed on the idea that Link can’t go about without at least one of the others with him, and the more he denies, denies, denies, the harsher they press, the more they threaten, and at last, a knife driving into his leg sends the point home. 

“You’ll tell, or we’ll be sending your dear dad a real awful message.” 

He’s a bit too busy choking back tears at the pain blossoming in his thigh to even try to answer that. 

Luckily, that’s the only instance involving a knife, and while the pain doesn’t exactly stop, one of the men declaress that “he’s just a kid, stabbing isn’t okay” although they say nothing to the occasionall slap or kick, which honestly, what sort of crap standard is that? Not that it matters, because the throbbing pain and the ever harsher slaps are making focusing rather difficult, and eventually his jaw in genuinely swollen enough that they seem to give up on trying to talk to him at all. Instead, they leave him, laying on the filthy floor and move off downstairs. 

He doesnt care how old he is, how much of an adult he wants people to see him as, Wind can’t help but cry when they’re gone. It hurts! Its so bad and he can’t even do anything except press one leg over the other and hope it kills the circulation and stems off the blood flow. 

Time seems to take forever to tick by, made all the worse by the lack of sunlight even as day definitely breaks. The windows remain unblocked, but the overcast weather from the night before has carried over and there’s not even the faintest hint of sun beams to track the time by as he lies and sobs and gathers himself only to break again later. 

It was late when he trailed the captain to the bar, maybe the wee hours of the morning, but his best bet is that it’s noon before he hears anything again. This time though, it’s shouting, harsh and loud and angry. There’s scuffling and what sounds like a clashing of blades, the thudding of feet darting up the stairs and then the door of the blasted room being flung open. It slams against the wall, rattling nearly hard enough that he thinks it might fall off its hinges then and there, but it doesn’t matter because standing in the door frame is a panting and bloodstained Legend, the captain’s heavy cloak hanging loosely off his shoulders. 

“Wind,” dark eyes fix on him as the twin blades in the vet’s hands are slipped away to Hylia knows where. 

There’s a scream from downstairs, and it makes him wince as booted feet dart to his side, the vet kneeling to inspect him, but Legend doesn’t so much as blink. No, the vet’s eyes are focused on him, and ewen when another set of booted feet pound up the stairs , headed their way, Legend just flicks a wrist to send one of his knives flying towards his persuer. 

The moment the gag is out of his mouth, he’s gasping, sobbing still, just a bit, but mostly just numb as Legend shifts him and starts binding up the stab wound in his leg. “Vet?” he wheezes, not so much deselieving as confused. 

“Better believe it, kid,” the man’s voice is clipped, distracted, motions just this side of frantic as they stop his bleeding and then cut his bonds. He’s missing most of his gear, only in his under-tunic and boots and Wind knows for a fact that the cloak on his shoulders is the captain’s and not the vet’s own. He hates that that means Legend hadn’t even bothered to dress himself before heading here, that more likely than not the other had been pulled out of bed to come directly here, or at least start looking for him. 

How had the others taken waking up and finding him missing? Especially after all of them had witnessed him promising the captain he’d stay behind? Sweet Sages, the sailor winces, they probably think he was kidnapped right out of his bed or some other such thing. Unless they know. Unless they suspect that he would break his promise, as he’d done, and go after the captain anyways, regardless of his word. He's not sure which is worse, them believing him helpless enough to be kidnapped, or them coming to the correct conclusion that he can’t even keep a simple promise. Whatever they think though, none of its clear on the vet’s face as he works, soft, detached words falling from his mouth in what the sailor thinks might be three or four different languages, but all of which sound vaguely assuring. The stream of comforting words doesn’t stop either as the vet finishes his work, violet eyes heavy with lack of sleep turning to at last fix on his face rather than his wound. 

“Any other injuries?” 

He shakes his head. There’s another scream from down below, steel clashing loudly. 

Legend nods, firm, quick, distracted, Long ears keep flicking between him and the stairs, and the vet’s mind clearly isn’t just on him. “We’re gonna get you out, okay? Wars has them busy downstairs.” 

Which means all the noise, the raised voices, the clashing steel, the shouts and cries and sounds of battle are because the captain is busy fighting off the men who’ve been keeping him here, and potentially any others. He doesn’t miss that the vet hadn't mentioned the others either. “We need to help him!” His aw is swollen enough that the words slur, but he thinks the point gets through. 

“We need to get you out of here.” Legend corrects, pulling him upright but supporting him so there’s no pressure put on his injured leg. “He can handle them.”  

“He needs backup-” 

“He needs you to listen to orders, kid.”  

That shuts him up for the moment. Legend looks like a wreck, tense, nervous, and very, very stressed. He knows better than to push that, but even so there’s still a part of him that detests the idea of letting Warriors face off against enemies alone. The vet doesn’t appear to care though, instead pulling him up over his back and moving for the stairs, teeth sawing faintly as he darts down them as quickly as is safe, each step granting Wind better and better a view of the fighting down below.  

It’s a mess. Warriors is caught in the midst of it, sword locked with that of one of the sailor’s captors while several others try and get hits in. There’s blood everywhere, on their clothes, their skin, their faces, and it’s clear as day that skill or no, the captain is outnumbered. 

“Got him!” Legend calls out, stopping briefly at the foot of the steps, panting slightly. 

Blue eyes dart towards them, all fire and fury and harsh, brilliant light, and the captain nods, dropping his lock with the other blade to fall back to the vet’s side, shield lifting to catch a blow here and there from enemies who strike out at either side. 

Faint sparks of magic dance over the room, Legend’s teeth gritting and sawing even louder as Wind feels the hands holding him to the other's back warm with the surge of magic, keeping the enemy at bay if only for a moment as Warriors cuts a path for them through the room. If Legend’s hands were free, Wind has no doubt that blood would be spilling much faster, but they aren’t, and try as he might, the vet won’t let him slip down. 

“We should help him!” he insists, as the outside world greets them, still grey, still overcast, and still not raining. “We should go back!” 

“I will,” the vet hisses, feet flying through the streets and carrying them ever further away for the pub and the sounds of battle, away from Warriors, “just as soon as you’re safe.” 

”He can’t hold that long!” 

“You’re my priority.” And try as he might to object, to fight, to squirm free or demand Legend turn back, shouts turning quickly to desperate sobs, the vet doesn’t so much as falter, just cling tightly to him, holding him in place as he moves through the streets, feet thumping and teeth sawing. 

People dart out of their way, some shouting in anger, others in fear, some others still in horror. There’s no shortage of blood on the vet, nor himself, and despite Legend’s prowess in battle, his skills with wound-care aren’t the best, and Wind is still very much leaking blood all the way from the pub to the castle gates, where Legend hastily hands him off to the men on duty, voice still that sharp, dangerous whip-crack as it hisses orders to the two men standing there. “Take him inside and alert General Impa that Captain Link requires aid.” 

One of the men makes to protest, but the other, one who’s familiar for some reason, nods, gathering Wind’s protesting form up in his arms without sapring him so much as a glance, eyes fixed instead on the vet’s flashing violet ones. “You got it, ma’am.” 

He doesn't even have it in him to laugh at Legend being mistaken for a woman, again- he’s too busy trying not to cry at the thought of the captain still left alone in that pub against men twice as big as he is. Legends doesn’t appear to even notice either, instead whipping back around, stumbling only for a moment and then darting off down the street again, the captain’s cape whipping in the wind kicked up by pegasus boots as the vet shoots out of sight, no doubt headed back to the captain’s side. 

- 

Holly, the infirmary attendant on hand, bustles him into a bed the moment he’s handed off.  

He manages to get ahold of hismelf between the gates and the infirmary, but it doesn’t stop the way worry twists and churns in his stomach enough that it’s a struggle to down the red potion she gives him after cleaning his injuries and checking him over. She tuts and fusses over him like anything al the while, just the same as she has a dozen times before. 

She’s one of the few medics Warriors will consent to being treated by. She’s an old neighbor of his from his childhood and someone with nothing to gain from his death or injury. By extension, she’s their usual caretaker too, his and Mask’s, when they’d ended up needing medical care while at the castle. Unlike others, Warriors can talk with her with ease, and even relaxes somewhat, enough that his accent will slip through to match her own, their voices low as they would discuss treatment, severity of injuries and childcare in general. She’s a nice enough lady, but her determination to assure him, sit with him and keep him calm do nothing but get on his nerves. 

Her attention stops though when heavy feet and rasping breathes sound outside the door, an hour or so later, and the sight of the vet, this time with Warriors’ arm slung over his shoulder, both of them bloody, both of them panting and neither of them processing his presence, steals her attention away. He only gets a glance in the time it takes the woman to haul ass and get the both off into the private room on one side of the infirmary, intended to be kept for nobles or the princess, but usually used quite frequently by one idiot captain, but one glance is almost too much. 

There’s so much blood. 

No one answers his questions as attendants surge into the infirmary and dart behind the shut door. Muffled sounds of pain escape from the other side, and its torture in its own right to be confined to a bed, watching the world buzz around him while white clad medics dart in and out, gathering terrifying looking tools and so, so many bottles and herbs and bandages. Gods, there’s so many bandages! He can hear the captain’s voice raised, panicked, he can hear Legend’s own, so much softer than it was the last he’d heard it; soft but clearly shaken as it soothes and assures, hitching here and again. He can’t catch the words, but that’s almost worse. 

It feels like it’s hours before the ward is quiet again, the medics trickling out, bloody and tired looking. 

Neither Legend nor the captain leave the room. Holly does, but she only spares him a sad look before moving for the door, returning a bit later with water which she offers to him first before slipping back into the captain’s room again. 

The clock on the wall ticks down the minutes, hours, and when at last something happens again, it’s the rest of the Chain making their way through the doors. Their eyes fall on him first, and the relief that floods over their faces as Time gathers him in his arms, as Twilight catches his face in both hands and looks him up and down like Granny would, it’s overwhelming.  

“Thank Hylia you’re okay!” The rancher gasps, pulling him in for a hug. 

“You gave us a real scare,” Four adds, standing far closer than he usually would, eyes trailing over him repeatedly, as though the smithy still isn’t sure he’s actually in one piece.  

Sky’s next to pull him into a brief hug, although, unlike the others, his face is still lined with worry as he pulls back, strained around the mouth and distracted as he adds his own say to that of the rest. “Never disappear like that again, understood?” 

“Understood.” It feels wrong, falling out of his mouth, but there’s nothing else to be said as his eyes trail to the door he’s tried multiple times by now and still can’t get past. 

There’s questions after that, and Hylia above he hates questions so much! He’s not even listening anymore, instead watching as Holly comes into the room again, shaking her head softly as she tuts under her breath, carrying yet another pitcher of water. “Holly!” His voice cuts off that of his brothers and has the medic’s eyes lifting to him, that sad little smile returning once more at the sight of him. It tastes disgustingly like pity. “How is he?” 

She hasn't answered any of the other times save with a soft “can’t be sure” but this time she looks over the heroes gathered before her and just finally sighs, gaze falling and head shaking like it’s been doing all afternoon. “T’ain’t pretty, luv.” 

“Let me see him?” It’s strained, nearly tearful despite his best efforts, but the image of all that blood, on the vet and the captain both, on the medics in and out of the room, and all over the tools Holly and the rest had been cleaning all afternoon- it makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn with unease. 

Unlike the last time, when he’d caught word of Warriors getting stabbed while at the castle, where he’d run here from the inn and been let in without so much as an attempt to stop him, this time the medic pauses, glancing between the closed off room and the sailor boy whose spent all day lurking outside of it. His injuries are basically gone by now, the potion having taken effect no matter how much he’d struggled to keep it down, but leaving just won't sit right with him. Not until he sees Link. 

The woman at last sighs, yet again. “I’ll see if yer mum’s alright wi’ it.” 

No one has even a chance to ask what she means by that, although based off of previous experience they all already know. He’s not sure if the vet’s been being referred to as ‘Kit Taylor’ all day now or not, has no way of knowing, but it really wouldn’t surprise it if they’re rolling with that again. Regardless, he’s sure the vet is who Holly means, and who she must speak too as she slips into the room again. 

The whole group of them wait with bated breath. 

When the door swings open yet again, the answer given is slow and hesitant. “Ten minutes.” 

 He’s up off the bed before she’s even done saying it, the rest of their group at his heels, but Sky by far the fastest, by some trick of magic or another (because there's no way he’s that quick under his own power). 

- 

Entering the little room, they’re greeted with the sight of the captain’s still form laid out across the bed. He’s on his side rather than his back, although there’s blood staining the back of the shirt he’s wearing, and while it doesn't appear to be fresh, it’s clearly the cause of his odd positioning. There's a lot of blood all the same though, and even more splatters over the vet, seated at the bedside in a chair that definitely wasn't there the last time Wind visited this room. They can’t see the captain’s face, but Legend looks like a wreck. Hair a mused mess, eyes bruised from lack of sleep and worry both as he sits, stretched out so that one arm rests between his chin and the mattress, the other hand holding one of the captain’s own tightly. Between the two of them, Wind’s not sure who looks worse, and he’s not even seen the captain’s face yet.  

It takes longer than he’d like for violet eyes to drag up to them too, and if the weight of the world looks like it’s resting on the vet’s shoulders, well, they all get a taste of it as his eyes fall just as heavy on the group of them. 

“Is that the others?” Warriors voice is strained, but it’s his and its alert at least, even if the man hasn't moved at all since they’d entered. 

Legend blinks, breathes a moment like even that is a chore, and then glances down to the captain. “Yeah. Guess they’re tired of waiting on us.” 

“Told you to go rest.” The captain huffs, but Wind can’t miss the way the man’s hand squeezes the vet’s own smaller one (or the fact that both sets of fingers are still stained with blood). 

A scoff makes rosy hair fly just a bit in front of dark eyes. “Yeah, no.” It’s said like they’ve had this conversation a thousand times already. Given how long they've been in here, Wind wouldn't be shocked if it has. Still, Legend’s voice is a good deal less rough than it was this morning, and while it still bleeds stress and strain, there’s an undercurrent of warmth in it that softens the sound against their ears. 

In a sharp contrast, the captain’s voice is all tightly strung and strained when it next sounds. “Is Wind here?” 

The vet’s eyes lift to them again; falling on him, holding his gaze as every emotion drops out of dark depths with a single heavy breath. “Yeah...” 

The captain groans, shifting and lifting one hand. “Help me up.” 

“Holly said to keep still,” the vet sits himself up, pushing Warriors back down in the same motion. The emotions flicker back over his face, worry and stress and pain, but the hand lifted, expectant, doesn’t drop. 

“Either you help me, or I do it by myself.” 

A soft ‘tsk’ sounds, but the hand is taken, clasped tightly as the captain lets Legend take the strain of pulling him somewhat upright, the vet’s other arm wrapping around broad shoulders while, somehow, the smaller man manages to maneuver a pillow or two around to support the other. Wind’s not sure how it’s done though, because his eyes are rather fixed on the captain’s face. Well, what he can see of it. 

It’s like being back in the army camp, sitting in the medical tent for the last time in his life and realizing just how much Hyrule resented the man who’d taken him in. The bandages that wrap around the captain’s eyes are positioned differently then that time, covering more, but there’s no doubt in his mind why they’re there, and what’s hiding beneath. 

He wants to be sick. 

“Tune.”  

Reflexively he tries to meet the stare that ought to be being leveled at him, but there’s only white cloth to meet in its place. His own voice feels small as it answers the steel of the captain’s own. “Yes?” 

“You lied to me.” It’s worse than the stab wound, than the punches he’d taken earlier in the day. The captain’s harsh tone is worse than anything enemies have ever dealt him, and he flinches back under it. “You promised to stay behind, and then you intentionally snuck out.” 

The gazes of the others are on him now, all shocked and surprised, except Legend. No, Legend just looks tired, maybe enough to just keel over then and there, even as he hovers at the captain’s bedside like he’s worried the other is the one that might falter. With how stately Warriors manages to look even while bandaged up and an utter mess, Wind has no clue where that worry is coming from. 

“I’m disappointed.” 

Wind’s pretty sure his heart stops for a minute. 

“I trusted you to obey orders, and you intentionally defied them, risking not only your safety, but mine and that of the rest of our party.” He’s not sure if he should be glad that he can’t see the captain’s eyes or not. The stare he’d be fixed under, if the man still had his vision, is no doubt the same one that’s made men piss themselves in terror. He never thought it would be turned on him, but the anger that bleeds through the captain’s voice betrays the intent, even if his face can do nothing to express it. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

He feels small. So very small. “I’m sorry.” 

Warriors twitches, shoulders sinking as though new weight has been added to them. “Me too.” His tone hasn’t softened the slightest bit. “I’m sorry I believed you would actually follow orders.” 

Tears prick at his eyes at the words. He’s already cried far too much today, but in comparison, everything that happened earlier feels so trivial and childish beside this. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you mean to tell that to everyone whose neck you risked by jumping in when I told you not to?” 

“What else do you want me to say?” It’s half sob, half scream, but somehow it’s still so quiet in the echo of the captain’s own harsh tones. 

Silence meets his words, but not a considering one. No, Warriors’ lips are pursed and his shoulders tense, so much so that even when Legend lays a hand on one, a wary look on the vet’s face and no doubt some sort of warning on the man’s lips, the captain doesn’t so much as twitch. “I don’t know. It seems my expectations were miscalculated.” 

“I’m sorry!” It feels like the only thing that he can say anymore. “I didn’t mean for this to happen!” 

“And yet it did.” 

“I was trying to look out for you!” 

The next words are a harsh bark worse than anything Time could dream of. “Well look how that turned out!” 

“Warriors.” Legend’s voice is strained, a warning as dark eyes lift to fix on the trembling sailor. 

The captain hisses a breath, what’s visible of his face contorting in what Wind takes a moment to realize is pain. There’s a breath, the vet’s hands hovering and the captain’s shoulders trembling for a moment before one blood-stained hand lifts as though to rub the bandaged face, only to think twice when it meets soft cloth rather then flesh. “Get out,” it’s strained, but less harsh, just tired. “Just... get out, go back to your room.” 

“You’re sending me to my room? I’m not a child!” 

“Well, you certainly haven't been acting like an adult!” The captain snarls back, only to pause and turn away, hand twitching towards his face a second time and again pausing at contact with the bandages. “Look, I am too angry and in too much pain to be having this conversation,” heavy breaths color the words, shallow little things that shake through the form of the man he’s spent so log looking up to. “We’ll discuss this when I can control myself.” 

He wants to protest, to apologize again, to say anything, but Time’s heavy, too big hand settles on his shoulder, holding him back. “We’ll leave you to rest then.” 

“Is there anything you need?” Sky’s voice is warm, soft, sad, but kind all the same as the man glances from Warriors’ shuddering form to Legend’s drooping one. 

The vet shakes his head, eyes slipping closed in the motion with a little sigh. Wind wonders, looking at him, if Legend has rested at all since hauling his ass out of that pub, or if the man’s been tending the captain at Holly’s side all the while, regardless of the fact that he looks ready to collapse. 

 Sky must see it too, because he frowns some, worry bleeding into his voice. “Get some sleep, you two. We’re just a call away.” 

“Thanks, Sky.” The smile the vet shoots them is as fake as the captain’s had been last night. 

Wind can only stare, helpless as their leader guides him out of the room. He trips over his own feet, but catches the way the vet catches the captain’s hand in one of his own, murmuring something he can’t hear but which has Warriors’ shoulders falling, sinking, a shudder running through the man that looks horrifyingly like a sob.