#*throws my sky and legend are highly empathetic and absorb everyone’s emotions headcanons into the mix*

[adrift-in-thyme]

Hello! If you are still accepting fic requests... I saw your "Legend is a sympathetic crier" post and it grabbed hold of my brain. Could you try a fic of that with Legend/Fable or Legend & Sky? Either one would be fun, I think!

Hi! Thanks so much for the prompt!!

I really wanted to write this with Legend/Fable but I don’t feel confident writing Fable as a main character just yet (I’ve seriously gotta play the games Legend’s in so I can write those two). But I went with Sky instead! I hope you like it!

Fic under the cut (can also be read on Ao3)

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Wild’s latest memory is one of his worst.

At least, Legend thinks it is. He isn’t usually around for the aftermath of these kinds of things. Warriors or Time are always quick to usher the group away as soon as that faraway look comes into the champion’s eyes. But today the memory had come and gone with uncharacteristic speed, and there had been no time for an escape.

Legend hadn’t minded too much at first. He’s handled worse things than the reminiscing of an amnesiac, after all. But that was before Wild had crumpled, falling to his knees with his hands pressed to his face. That was before the wailing had begun.

Even now, that an eternity has passed, the sounds of anguish still split the air. Twilight has drawn the champion into his arms, but his shoulder does little to muffle his heartbroken cries. And with each passing second Legend’s chest constricts further.

A lump situates itself painfully in his throat and he struggles to breathe past it. He won’t cry–he can’t—not here. Yet, the tears are coming anyway, burning his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

He balls his hands into fists, fingernails digging into flesh. Even the stinging pain does nothing to keep back the emotions rising within him. And they’re not his own, not even close—for goodness sake, he doesn’t even know what the memory was about—but they come anyway, strong and suffocating. He fights not to crumble beneath their weight.

Still, the sobs wrack Wild’s body and still, he stands frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes from the sight.

Somewhere off to his side Time leads the others away, saying something about privacy. Somewhere even nearer Wind laments their helplessness. But Legend hears them as though they’re miles away.

When Wild speaks, however, he hears the anguished words plainly.

“I forgot her. How could I forget her?”

He doesn’t know who this mystery girl is (though he may have a terrible, terrifying inkling), but it doesn’t matter. The statement on top of everything else is just too much.

It takes everything he has to walk away instead of running.

Putting some distance between himself and the others helps a bit. As soon as he’s out of earshot, the emotions begin to subside and the tears along with them. But the mere thought of the champion–of how he’d looked and sounded–brings them roaring back.

Legend kicks viciously at a small pebble, sending it flying.

It was only a matter of time before this happened–before someone started bawling their eyes out and he just had to follow suit. But it’s stupid, horribly so. He isn’t the one who should be crying. He’s the one who should be standing strong, keeping his walls up, and letting no one, not a single person, see how the pain of others affects him.

He reaches a small cliff and, with a sigh, flops down onto it. It’s a dismal sort of day though, overhung with rain clouds and fog, and within a second of sitting down his tunic has sopped up half of Hyrule’s water supply. Cursing, he leaps back to his feet.

Wonderful. Even nature is trying to make him cry. Or scream. At this point, he feels more inclined to go that route.

Instead, he settles for glaring into the mist. It doesn’t provide any satisfaction, but it’s something.

Anger is better than sorrow any day.

“Legend?”

He jumps at the sound and whirls, reaching for his sword. Sky holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s just me.”

Legend lets out an annoyed huff, sheathing his weapon. His thoughts are scattered now like seeds born on the wings of the wind.

“Yeah, I can see that now. Mind not sneaking up on me next time?”

Sky chuckles. “Sorry, I thought you’d hear me. I’m not usually all that stealthy.”

He comes to stand beside him, following the direction of Legend’s gaze from moments before.

“You were deep in thought though. I called you three times before you noticed I was standing there.”

Legend shifts, uncomfortably.

Three times? That’s a first. He’s usually much more attentive, often to a fault. “Bunny hearing” Fable jokingly calls it, and he can’t help thinking she’s onto something. Few sounds slip his notice.

“Well, what’re you doing here?” He asks, sitting down on the moist grass. Wetness be damned, he’s too tired to remain standing.

Sweet Hylia, why do emotions have to be so exhausting?

“Shouldn’t you be back there—” He jerks a thumb behind him— “comforting the person who’s actively breaking down?”

Sky settles down by his side and folds his hands in his lap.

“I can’t help Wild,” he says, quietly. “The fewer people around him right now, the better. Twilight and Time are with him and that’s enough.”

That’s good, Legend supposes. The champion is closer to the two heroes than he is to anyone else in their party. Still, he wishes something more could be done.

Well…what he wishes is that he could snap his fingers and all pain would just disappear—from him, from those he calls friends. That would be easier, much easier than sitting here and dealing with the whole lot of it.

…or watching it tear someone down into a sobbing, mess.

Hylia help him, his own problems are more than enough without him having to go and absorb everyone else’s. It’s like being a chu, oozing about, taking on any element they encounter, and spewing it out indiscriminately.

“It’s difficult watching something like that.”

Legend turns slightly so he can see the Skyloftian’s face. There’s something he can’t quite make out in his gaze, an emotion he thinks he should know yet can’t place.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Sky continues, almost as though reassuring himself. “But our hero’s spirits want so badly to take it all away. It just doesn’t sit right, leaving him with such a heavy burden.”

He meets Legend’s eyes now, a small, sad smile lifting his lips. “Especially when it feels like that burden has become yours.”

The tears spring back with a vengeance and Legend turns away quickly to avoid Sky catching sight of them. Not that it matters. He knows what the Skyloftian is doing, and he knows what it means. He saw him crying back there, he must have.

He slumps despite himself, curling in with his shoulders hunched. He feels very much like he did when Twilight and Sky saw him in his bunny form, caught in the trap of vulnerability and hating every second of it.

“I know it’s not my burden,” he mutters, testily. “I just…I can’t help it.”

Plucking a blade of grass he begins ripping it viciously into thin strands.

“It happens every damn time.”

Sky nods and there is a kind of comprehension in the movement. Somehow, it makes Legend feel worse.

First the tears, now an uncharacteristic outpouring of his heart. What on earth is wrong with him?

“It’s not a weakness you know.”

Legend gives a derisive snort. “I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“You’re such a kind, sensitive soul,” his uncle told him once, fondness in his eyes. But kindness and sensitivity are blatant invitations for hurt. That much has been drilled into his skull.

For a long moment, there is only suffocating silence. Then, Sky scoots closer. He’s warm, far more than the dreary chill of the wind or the bone-aching wet hanging in the air and seeping into his tunic. Still, Legend stiffens.

“I know it feels that way sometimes,” the Skyloftian continues. “But it’s what makes us heroes.”

Legend side eyes him. “Crying our eyes out makes us heroes?”

Sky chuckles. “Well, maybe not that specifically. You know what I mean, though.”

Legend sighs. He does, despite not really wanting to accept it.

“If only dealing with emotions was as easy as saving Hyrule,” he says, wryly, in a half-hearted attempt at bringing some humor into the conversation.

Sky’s face falls slightly. “Yeah…if only.” Then, he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway, I guess the bunny form makes more sense now.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Legend snaps, sending him a scowl.

“It’s just like the rancher said, you’ve got a soft, little bunny heart.”

“Hey, now! You’ve got no right!���

Sky laughs, completely unperturbed by Legend’s pout. And even the veteran has to admit the sound makes the air feel lighter. At the very least, it’s better than the sound of sobs.

“Oh!” The Skyloftian suddenly jolts, reaching into his pouch. “That reminds me. I have something for you.” He presses a small, wrapped object into Legend’s palm. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but I couldn’t find a good time. I guess now is as good as ever.”

Legend peers down at it, curiosity peeking. But before he can begin freeing it from the handkerchief that envelopes it, Sky rises.

“Well, I’m gonna head back. Open that whenever you want to. There’s no rush.”

“Okay,” Legend replies, slowly. He watches with narrowed eyes as the Skyloftian turns and starts in the opposite direction. If he wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly is now.

Nevertheless, he makes himself wait until Sky is out of sight to peel away the wrapping. And then he freezes, breath catching at the sight within.

It’s a tiny, ornate carving of a rabbit.

It stands on its hind legs, so alert and lifelike Legend half expects to see it twitch its nose. Gently, almost cautiously, he runs a finger over its little head, feeling the smoothness of the wood.

Something wet and warm drops onto the back of his hand, and he realizes with a streak of frustration that he’s crying again. Cursing Sky, he swipes at his eyes. There’s no stopping it now that it’s begun, however. In the end, he’s forced to let the sobs rip through him.

And as the tears pour down faster than he can wipe them away, he closes his fist around the precious object and clutches it to his chest.