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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 29: "What happened to me?"

Continuation to day 22 and 25 :)

Day 22

Day 25

Read on ao3

Warnings: mostly the same as the other ones, blood, injury, some violence, possession, a little creepy vibes

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Warriors is not one to hesitate.

As Time leaps forward to attack the demon (the boy?) and tentacles of pure darkness shoot out from the mask, Warriors is instantly in full battle mode, and begins shouting out orders.

The others snap out of their horrified dazes and go to help Time, dodging shadowy tentacles as thunder booms nearby. The rain begins to come down harder, and visibility grows more difficult, the only truly clear sights Warriors gets of the battle happening when lightning scatters across the sky.

But he doesn’t let it stop him, and Warriors finally locates his first target, grabbing Legend’s shoulder to catch his attention.

“You need to go see if you can find Ravio,” he says a bit breathlessly, dodging a tentacle that comes their way. “He must still be inside, Sheerow wouldn’t have led us here otherwise.”

Legend scowls. “Captain, I’m not going to leave—”

“He may be in trouble, and we don’t know if he has time for us to finish this battle,” Warriors says grimly. “Go find him, Vet. We can handle things for now.”

Legend hesitates, then nods, Sheerow appearing at his shoulder like he’d heard them talking. Legend turns and runs off, and Warriors watches him until he disappears with the little bird into the Eastern Palace.

Then he turns back to the battle, and joins the others in fighting the mask.

Time is fighting the body itself, and while the rest of them are trying to help him, the mask is surprisingly good at multitasking. It picked up a sword somewhere, and while it swings viciously at Time, dark tentacles sweep at the rest of them, keeping them away from the fight.

Time is in no condition to be fighting a demon, Warriors knows that for certain. Between the sleepless nights that have sapped him of energy, and the nightmares and revelations he’s had dropped on him, it’s a wonder he’s even standing.

But there’s strength in desperation. Warriors knows that well.

Wild jumps back from the fight and along with Four, begins firing arrows into the fray. Warriors is glad for the the cover as he dodges another attack. They’re starting to figure out the movements of the battle now, the different attacks up their enemy’s sleeve, and with the archers’ support, begin closing in on Time and the demon.

An arrow flies past Warriors’ shoulder, and someone suddenly screams, piercing and familiar. Warriors is already looking around for who got struck, but when he finally sees where the arrow landed, his brow furrows in confusion.

It’s sprouting from the shoulder of their enemy, but he could have sworn the voice that had screamed was—

“Don’t hurts the person behind the mask!”

At Twilight’s frantic cry, everything Warriors had been wondering and suspected falls neatly into place, and he stares at the body that’s wearing the mask, a cold feeling in his chest. The figure is taller then what he remembers, but the outfit is familiar, even through all the blood and shadows covering it.

Somehow, impossibly, there’s a version of Time under that mask.

The demon seems to have recovered quickly from the arrow in its arm, and it rips it out with a small cry. Then it cackles as it thrusts a tentacle of darkness at Time, nearly throwing him to the ground before he scrambles to dodge it.

“How are we supposed to fight him but not hit him?!” Wild shouts, and Twilight’s reply is drowned out by another roll of thunder.

“How do we know if he’s even alive under there?” Hyrule asks worriedly, swinging at a tentacle nearby, and Warriors looks back at Majora, a tight feeling in his chest.

How indeed.

“We need to get the mask off,” he says as he dodges an attack, “then we’ll... we’ll know. In the meantime, try not to hurt him.”

“Easier said then done,” Sky grunts nearby. “I don’t think he has the same qualms.”

Majora must hear them, for after they have the exchange it grows harder to fight, tentacles lashing, cries ringing out as several of them are knocked to the ground. It begins tearing up bricks from the ground and throwing them as well, and between the projectiles and their reluctance to hit him, the battle begins to turn back in the demon’s favor.

A tentacle lashes forward, and a cry rings out, Warriors turning just in time to see Hyrule hit the ground, hard.

He hears several cries, but can’t get to the traveler through all of the tentacles and projectiles thrown his way. Someone does finally get to Hyrule’s side, Warriors unable to tell who through the rain, and he slices at another tentacle as another shout rings out.

It’s Time’s voice again, but this time it’s not Majora who’s hurt.

Warriors watches as Time grabs at his side, a flash of red visible through the rain as he reels backwards. His heart speeds up, and he tries to fight over to Time’s side, slipping on puddles and avoiding tentacles. Someone else cries out yet again, and Warriors feels ice begin to freeze up his chest.

They’re losing this fight.

He’s still much too far to be of any use to Time, and as he tries desperately to reach him and help, Majora dodging and leaping around, Warriors sees Time’s face harden into a look he knows well.

His heart shoots up into his throat as Time’s hand slips into his pouch, and a white mask is pulled out.

“Sprite don’t!” Warriors shouts across the battlefield, but Time either doesn’t hear him or ignores the words entirely as he slams the mask onto his face.

A tentacle tries to knock Warriors to the ground while he’s distracted, nearly doing the same to him as had been done to Hyrule. And by the time he’s dealt with it and turns back, Time is no longer there, a god fighting in his place.

A high-pitched laugh rings around the area, and Majora leaps around the Fierce Deity’s attacks, moving so fast it’s hard to watch. Lightning flashes, but it’s nothing compared to the way the Deity’s eyes flash as he fights Majora.

Warriors finally makes it within striking distance of the two, but they’re moving so fast he can’t help at all. He waits for an opening, wiping rain out of his eyes and nervously twirling his sword, and as he watches, Majora dodges just the slightest bit too slow.

The Fierce Deity doesn’t hesitate.

He swings his huge sword, glowing an almost electric blue, and strikes the mask right off the boy’s face.

A horrible scream rings around the area, a mixture of the mask and the one who’d been wearing it, and the body topples to the ground, bloody and broken. Majora’s mask flies into the air, bleeding darkness as it turns to the Fierce Deity with its tentacles lashing, and it roars in outrage.

“YOU NEVER PLAY FAIR!” the mask screams, and the fight resumes, the two attacking each other with an increased ferocity.

Warriors doesn’t hesitate in sprinting towards the fallen body, shadows and blood seeping off of him in nearly equal amounts. He drags him away (he’s so light) as far as he can from where the Deity is now fighting the mask with no holds barred, and Warriors carefully flips the boy over, a quiet hitching sound coming from him.

He realizes it’s crying at the same time his eyes settle on the boy’s face.

The features that have been freed look so similar to Mask’s that Warriors startles, nearly forgetting what he’s doing. The face is older, though not by a whole lot, and the blood and injuries and tentacle marks all over him certainly change things. But the shape is there, a mix between the man Warriors knows now and the boy he met during the war, and he feels like he’s been gutted.

He can’t be older then Wild.

The rain puddled beneath the younger Time begin to turn red, and the hitching noises turn to gurgles as the shadows holding him together fade. Warriors shoves his scrambled thoughts aside, and shushes the boy as he pulls out a fairy.

“Hold on kid, hold on,” he murmurs, and the fairy dances over the boy’s rapidly stilling form. Sparkles mix with the rain, and Warriors watches in silence as the most grievous of the boy’s injuries are healed.

Twilight and Wind run up to his side as the fairy finishes, and the hitching sound starts up again, Wind staring at the body in horror.

“Merciful Ordona,” Twilight breathes, and carefully lifts the boy partially onto his lap, shushing him when he makes a noise. “Shh, you’re alright, you’re safe.”

The boy shudders where he’s laying, and Twilight pulls him into a tighter hold, rubbing small circles onto his back. His injuries are by no means completely healed, but they can’t do much for him here, rain pouring on their heads, screams still ringing out.

Screams?

Warriors turns, and sees the Fierce Deity with a foot on Majora’s mask, angry screams and jabbering coming from the demon. The Deity doesn’t hesitate, and plunges his glowing sword through the mask, one final scream ringing out.

Any tentacles left grow still, then fade away, darkness puddling on the ground much like the rain.

A louder hitching sound catches Warriors’ attention, and he turns back to the boy, his eyes flickering as Twilight holds him. He’s looking around with a terrified look in his eyes, tears smearing the blood on his face, and suddenly the Fierce Deity is kneeling beside him, a hand outstretched.

Warriors stiffens, a hand reaching for his sword.

But the Deity’s hand merely rests on the boy’s cheek, notably gently compared to the way he’d been fighting earlier. The younger Time whimpers, and turns into the hold, and Warriors releases his sword, though he keeps it in reach.

“Rest, little one,” the Deity says, surprisingly soft as a finger brushes some blood away. “Your part of this fight is done.”

The boy’s breath hitches again, but his eyes slip closed, and he stills as the Deity gently holds his cheek. Warriors frowns, but Twilight waves him off, gesturing to the boy’s chest going up and down. He’s merely unconscious.

The Deity waits a moment, still looking at the younger Time, then removes his hand and turns to face the three heroes around him.

“The demon is gone,” he says, rain pattering on his armor. “And the one who brought him back is not present. The danger has been eliminated.”

“Are you going to release Time now?” Warriors asks in a voice that’s more of a demand then a question.

The Deity tilts his head, then blinks, looking like he’s studying Warriors’ face.

“My role is finished. You need not worry for your leader.” His hand raises, but he pauses just before taking the mask off, and stares at Warriors with an intense gaze. “Watch out for him and the boy. The upcoming days will not be easy.”

Warriors blinks, but before he can reply, the Deity lifts off his face, and Time kneels where he once did.

He immediately flounders, and Warriors is there with an arm under his shoulder as he lowers him carefully to the ground. Time’s hand goes to his side, blood on his fingers, and Wind scoots over and hands him a potion.

The rain is steady, but the thunder is mostly past, rumbles coming from in the distance. The others slowly converge on where the rest of them kneel, Wild helping Hyrule walk over. One by one they turn to look at the bloodied teenager in Twilight’s lap, and Warriors looks uneasily at Time, the older hero rubbing his forehead.

He looks exhausted, even having drunk a potion, but his face is oddly emotionless as he looks at the younger version of himself. Warriors can feel him shaking where his arm is still slung over his shoulder, and he holds him a little tighter, just like he has been for the past month after he’d woken up screaming.

It was his death he was seeing after all, Warriors thinks as the rock in his stomach shifts. An alternate version, but...

“Is... is that really Time?” Wind asks him quietly, and Warriors looks at the older hero again.

Time doesn’t say anything, rain dripping off his hair.

“In a way,” Warriors says a bit uncertainly. “Do you remember what Legend was saying about Times nightmares, and the Fallen Hero?”

Wind looks confused, and then he pales, a quiet oh escaping his lips as he looks at the young Time again.

“This is him?” Hyrule says a little shakily, and Warriors swallows, nodding without a word. What can he even say?

Wind suddenly perks up, and looks behind them all, some of the light coming back to his eyes.

“Hey look, it’s Ravio!”

Warriors turns and sees Legend exiting the palace with Ravio’s arm slung over his shoulder, the merchant barely able to walk even with his assistance. Wind runs over to help, and Warriors worriedly takes in Ravio’s battered appearance as they approach, though the merchant gives them all a bleary smile.

“Can always count on Mr. Hero,” he says in a shaking voice. “N-never let me down yet.”

“You certainly don’t make it easy,” Legend mutters, though there’s a fondness in his voice. His eyes seem red as well, but nobody mentions it as they look back at the boy in Twilight’s arms.

Legend takes in the sight of him, an unreadable look in his eyes, and then he looks around at the rest of them, soaking wet, exhausted and injured.

He sighs.

“Come on. Let’s head back to my house.”

(...)

It’s more then two days before he wakes up.

They all head back to Legend’s house, wounded in tow, and once they arrive, everyone is properly fussed over. Potions are handed out, bandages wrapped, wet clothes peeled off and set to dry by the fire Legend gets going.

The younger Time is placed in his bed once they heal and bandage him as much as they can, and they carefully coax the story of what happened from Ravio, the merchant still shaky and pale.

He recounts the exact events of Time’s longer dream, Legend sitting beside him the entire time, and when he finishes, Time stands up and leaves the room.

Warriors doesn’t follow. Time needs time to process everything.

Warriors knows he does.

After they’ve all sufficiently rested from... everything, and while they wait for the younger Time to wake, they help Legend clean up his house. It’s something to do, but it doesn’t dispel the strange mood over them all.

There’s relief, that Ravio and everyone else is okay and that Time finally has an uninterrupted night’s sleep, but worry too, since barely anyone got out of the fight without at least a few scratches, and the implications of the enemy they’d fought, and the boy they saved that still hasn’t woken up.

Warriors watches him that first night, his bangs partially obscuring the marks they’d discovered after cleaning him up. They’re from Majora of course, but Warriors hopes they’ll fade, for the boy’s sake at least.

He deserves to not have a reminder of what happened on his face.

He isn’t the only one in the room after another day of cleaning, on the second night they’re there. Though most of the Links are asleep, either on the floor or in chairs, snores drifting across the room. Not everyone is asleep though, and Warriors tries not to stare at where Time is seated by the bed, not quite within arm’s reach.

Twilight is beside him, much closer to the bed, and they keep watch over the sleeping boy, still as ever.

The younger Time suddenly whimpers in his sleep, and before Warriors can move, Twilight runs a hand along his hair, carefully avoiding the bandages by his cheek. The boy stills, and Twilight leans back again, looking at his ancestor with an aching look in his eyes.

“Time,” he asks quietly, the words loud in the silence of the room. “How old is he?”

Time is silent for a long time, and Warriors almost wonders if he’s not going to answer the question.

“Physically... around sixteen,” he says finally, voice not more than a rasp. “Maybe seventeen. I’ve never known exactly how old I was.”

“...mentally?” Twilight asks.

Time closes his eye, and Warriors sees him swallow

“About nine,” he whispers.

Warriors feels like he’s been kicked in the chest, and Twilight looks the same, both of them turning to stare back at the boy lying on bed.

Nine.

The boy lying next to them, that had fought Ganon and been killed, setting off Legend and Hyrule’s entire timeline, and then been brought back to life and possessed by Majora and nearly died again due to the Shadow’s meddling was nine years old.

Mask had been eleven.

“Nine?” Twilight chokes out, and Time looks away, shaking his head.

Neither of them know what to say, but Warriors sees how Time’s shoulders curl in, how his eyebrows lower, that same haunted look coming back into his eye. Warriors stands up, making them both look over, then walks over to Time and pulls him into his arms.

He’s not usually one to initiate hugs of all things, but it’s all he feels like he can do.

“I’m so sorry,” Warriors says in his shoulder, and Time seems like he doesn’t know what to do, arms held rigidly at his sides.

“It’s hardly your fault,” he says in a strained voice, and Warriors holds him tighter.

“I know. But I have a feeling you never got an apology.”

Time stares, and then he crumples in Warriors’ arms.

A shaking breath escapes him, and Twilight leans over to put an arm around him as well, Warriors sitting to better out his arms around him.

They hold him in silence as he begins to cry, then sob, and if any of the others wake up from the noise, they don’t say a word.

(...)

The younger Time finally wakes up the next day, when it’s just Warriors, Wind, and Legend in the room.

They’d brought a pile of maps in to sort out and reorganize, figure out which are still useable. One minute Warriors is wondering exactly how many dungeons Legend has gone through, and the next, Wind jumps, staring over at the bed.

Two blue eyes are staring at the three of them, wide and confused-looking.

“He’s awake!” Wind gasps, but Legend puts a hand on his arm, stopping him from running over.

Warriors calmly gets to his feet and goes to his bedside, the blue eyes following him the entire way. He sits down, and gives the boy a careful smile.

“Good morning, Link. We weren’t sure quite when you were going to wake up,” he says kindly.

Link stares at him still, and Warriors grabs the cup of water they’ve kept at the bedside table for this very moment.

“I’m sure you’re thirsty, would you like some water?” he asks gently, and Link nods, zeroing in on the cup with a hungry look. Legend and Wind finally come over, and they help him sit up, the borrowed tunic slipping over one of his shoulders.

Warriors hands him the cup, and though it takes him a few tries, Link manages to hold the cup and drink by himself, eagerly draining the entire thing.

“We’ll get Wild to make you some food too, I’m sure you’re hungry,” Wind says with a smile, and Link swallows, finishing the water.

“Where... what happened?” he asks, looking down at himself, eyes going wide at the bandages, and Warriors and Legend exchange looks.

“...Maybe you’d better see for yourself,” Legend says, and grabs a hand mirror from a table nearby. Warriors raises an eyebrow, and Legend rolls his eyes. “It’s not magic, it’s a regular mirror.”

That hadn’t been what Warriors was raising his brow at, though the assurance is nice.

Legend hands it over to Link, and he stares, taking in the bandages and pale color of his face, and especially the markings that are still visible on his skin. He raises a hand, and stares at that as well, looking at the bandages wrapped over his wrist.

“Wh... what happened to me?” he asks in a small voice, running a shaky hand along the lines on his face.

Something flashes across his face, and he sets down the mirror, pulling up his tunic with a shaking hand. Link stares at the bandages covering the worst of the injuries across his middle, and places a hand on his stomach.

He suddenly freezes, eyes going even wider, and Warriors immediately recognizes the look of someone remembering.

“I died,” he says in a small voice, and Warriors breathes out, then nods.

“You did,” he agrees quietly. “But you’re not dead anymore, Link. You’re safe.”

“I... I wasn’t,” Link continues, and puts his hand back on the marks on his face with a shaken look. “There was... was something in my head. I remember, I was fighting, I fought really hard but it wouldn’t let me go, and it hurt and I wanted to be dead again but...”

He looks at Warriors, face pale and eyes watering.

“Y-you all saved me.”

“We did,” Wind says confidently, and pats Link’s hand with a smile. “We got rid of Majora. Time split the mask in two while pieces, there’s no coming back from that.”

Link lets out a strange noise, his breathing speeding up, and Warriors takes his hands in his. He holds them steady, feeling the way they’re shaking, and waits until Link looks up and meets his eyes.

“He’s gone, Link. You’re safe, and you’re alive,” Warriors says softly.

Link’s lip trembles, and suddenly his face is pressed against Warriors’ shoulder, quiet cries coming from him. Warriors puts his arms around him, and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly seeing so many similarities to Mask and Time that it makes his heart feel like it’s going to break in two.

“Thank you,” Link chokes out, and Warriors holds him a little tighter as his breath hitches. “Th-thank you, I—”

His words break off into a hiccup, and Wind can’t take it anymore and jumps up to hug him as well. Legend puts a bracing hand on his shoulder, something heavy in his gaze, and Warriors realizes that the others have come into the room, likely brought by the sounds of Link’s cries.

They don’t intrude on the hug, but they stay close, and Warriors meets Time’s eye for a split second before he looks away.

“Shh, you’re okay Sprite,” Warriors says softly, and despite the fact that the boy he’s holding can’t have heard the nickname before, he relaxes slightly at it. “You’re safe.”

He holds him a little tighter, and doesn’t direct his next words solely at the boy in his arms, but rather the one he knows is also trying not to cry only a few feet away.

“It’ll be okay.”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu warriors #lu chain #all the links #linked universe fanfic #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #fic #day 29 #what happened to me?#writing from the floor #*grumbly noises* I wanted to make the ending longer but this already took way too long #I don't know how i feel about this #but I hope you all like it #I even put in some fierce dadity so maybe people will reblog it for that #also LOOOOOOK IT'S THE ONE THAT DUMB WIP WITH LIKE 400 NOTES IS FROM

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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 22: Glass shard, “Watch out!”

Folks I’m ngl, this one is very intense. The first bit is the worst, but the end is kinda creepy too, and overall it’s just bad times, so uh, you know. There’s your warning. Per usual, if you think this needs more warnings, please tell me :)

Read on ao3

Warnings: see above, canonical character death (...sort of) blood, significant injury, brief mention of vomit, and creepy vibes

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Somehow he knows it’s over.

His breath is coming short in his chest, blood dripping through his fingers as he tries to hold it in from too many injuries to count. The Master Sword was knocked from his grip ages ago, and he’s not sure what happened to his shield.

Something moves in the corner of his eyes, but there’s blood on his forehead and he moves too slow, Navi’s chime frantic in his ears.

“Watch out!” she shrieks, but Link can’t move fast enough, can barely breathe anymore, and when the huge sword cleaves his chest, he knows it is over.

He doesn’t know if it’s him or Navi who screams, or Zelda maybe, wherever she is. All he’s really aware of is the white hot agony ripping into him, the yellow eyes that stare into his, Ganon’s face upturning in a wild grin when he realizes what he’s accomplished.

A bellowing laugh of victory blots out any other noise, any cry Link might make as Ganon raises him into the air, still impaled on his weapon. His vision goes white at the edges as Ganon lets him hang there, and he knows he screams when the blade is ripped from his chest, dropping him to the ground with a sickening noise.

There’s a desperate wail he thinks comes from Navi, but all there is is light and sound and shattered glass beneath his broken body, only spilling more of his blood onto the floor.

You failed, his mind whispers, even as his eyes flicker and Navi wails again. You failed.

Something warm is spilling from his mouth, his chest, pooling rapidly beneath him. There is a new voice now, shouting something that makes bright lights appear in the edges of his vision, and he tries to turn to them, but can’t.

Zelda, his mind whispers. Trying to fix your mistakes.

He closes his eyes, grief and shame and horrific pain so intense that he can’t handle the weight of them. Something in his chest moves when he breathes, something that’s not supposed to, and it joins the rest of the agony pounding through him, breaking him into pieces like the shattered glass beneath him.

He wants to go home.

A cough bubbles out of his chest, something thick on his tongue, and wings suddenly brush his face.

“Link,” Navi sobs as she nearly falls onto his cheek, clutching at him with tiny hands, “Link no, I’m so sorry, I was s-supposed to protect you—”

Link lets out a sound somewhere between a cough and a sob, and Navi cries, her tears falling to his cheek like glowing snowflakes. He wants to reassure her, gently cup her in his palm, but he knows it’s the end.

Nothing can save him now.

Zelda’s voice sounds choked as it echoes along with six others, almost like she’s holding back tears. Ganon suddenly screams, and Link feels the tiniest wave of hope as his senses desert him, his ruined body failing.

He hopes that Zelda and the sages will take care of Ganon, that they’ll stop him, seal him, won’t let him destroy the kingdom more than Link has already allowed him to.

But he’ll never know for sure.

Link takes in one last gurgling breath, blood almost stopping him from breathing his last. Navi holds him tighter, and Link exhales, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth as his body falls still.

His fairy’s sob is the last thing he hears as his world disappears into nothing but velvety darkness.

—And Time bolts upright with a choked off scream before he even fully realizes what’s happening.

Images swirl in his head with such dizzying clarity he can’t focus on any of them. Blood and weapons, blue and yellow, stairs and music and the booming laugh that haunted his nightmares as a child—

Time clutches his chest, gasping in a shaking breath. He feels sick, horribly sick, phantom pain slicing into his stomach, terror sinking its freezing claws into him. Sweat pours down his face as the laugh echoes in his ears again, a shrill scream, and he tries desperately to reassure himself it wasn’t real.

That’s not how his fight against Ganon had happened. It wasn’t, he was fine, but his heart was pounding and his lungs were still straining like they couldn’t get in enough air—

(A trident, ripping through his chest, choking on blood, too much, too much—)

Time gags, and someone’s hand lands on his shoulder as he vomits into the grass, holding him steady while they wait for him to stop.

He finally catches his breath, head spinning, stomach still unsettled. The emotions from the dream sharply linger, failure and hopelessness and a fear so intense that Time is nearly sick again. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and he finally looks up, meeting Warriors’ worried blue eyes.

The captain doesn’t say anything at first. But he hands Time a cloth to wipe his face, and steadies him when he gets to his feet, legs still trembling.

Warriors leads him to the fire, and Time sits down, forcing the shaking in his body to still. But it’s impossible, not when he can still hear Navi’s shriek ringing in his ears, feel blood pouring down his chin. Ganon’s triumphant laugh booms in his ears for the third time, and Time hunches down in his seat, mind unwillingly going through every single detail of the dream.

Just like he has for the past half a week.

The detail of the dream has increased each time he’s had it, but tonight’s was the worst yet. Time clutches at his forehead as his head pounds, and lightly rubs the bridge of his nose.

Nightmares rarely effect him to such a degree, but this... this time it had felt real.

What’s happening to me?

Warriors sits next to him without a word moments later, holding a water skin. A scarf settles around his shoulders, and Time nearly gives in to the childish desire to bury his face in it, hands still shaking.

“Time, are you... well?” Warriors asks finally, his voice gentle and worried.

Time sips the water he’s been given to give himself more time to reply, and lowers the skin with a quiet swallow.

“It’s not a sickness,” he croaks finally, hating how shaky the words come out. “I know it’s not. It’s...”

(Navi crying, Ganon’s roar, the rich tones of an organ as tears fall down his cheeks—)

He shudders.

“It’s the same dream. Every night,” he whispers. “Exactly the same, only they’re getting... worse. More real.”

He doesn’t explain what happens in the dream, but Warriors doesn’t push, instead staying silent as he thinks for a moment.

“Every night?” he asks finally, voice soft and worried.

“Tonight was the fourth in a row.”

Warriors goes silent again, the crease on his forehead deepening.

“Something must be going on,” he says finally, firelight shimmering off of the embroidery on his scarf. “Things like this... they’re very rarely a coincidence.”

“I know,” Time whispers, voice still terribly small. “This... this isn’t natural.”

“Could this be the work of the enemy?” Warriors muses, staring at the fire. “A spell? A curse?”

Time shakes his head, feeling at a loss. He knows the feel of curses, and the dreams don’t feel like that. They have more of a... heft to them, like anticipation before a battle, or the pressure before a rainstorm.

They feel more like the nightmares he had as a child, visions of Ganondorf’s attack, leading up to the day he left the forest. There’s a weight to these dreams, one that boasts of nothing good in store for their group.

But Time doesn’t voice any of this. Warriors doesn’t need yet another thing to stress about.

And besides, perhaps I’m wrong.

So instead of saying anything further, Time silently rests his head on his brother’s shoulder, scarf still warming his arms, and listens to the sound of his breathing, steady and strong.

He misses the look Warriors gives him, and at some point, falls back asleep, a hand carding through his hair.

(...)

The dreams don’t stop, their violence and clarity only getting more intense.

The others are aware something is wrong now, Time waking them all up with a bloodcurdling scream the very next night. They discuss ideas, but nobody has a clue what’s going on, what’s affecting him so deeply. Time sees several of them having conversations out of his earshot that day, furtive glances cast his direction, but he pretends he doesn’t notice.

If they want to talk about him behind his back, so be it.

They all generally give him space at night, but with the repeated nightmares, now his boys have take to sleeping much closer. And when Time wakes up heaving for breath, someone is inevitably there to calm him down.

After a week goes by with no relief, Time admits to Warriors and Twilight, quietly, what his nightmare consists of, in hopes it will aid in solving this. All it really does is make Warriors’ face twice as concerned when he wakes him from a nightmare, and Twilight’s eyes hold a nervousness when he looks at him now, like he’s afraid his dream might suddenly become reality.

Time debates not sleeping to escape the nightmare as it continues to plague him. He’s barely getting any rest anyway, he might as well skip sleep entirely.

He’s had plenty of practice, after all.

But after three nights of no rest, the others put a stop to it, several of them nearly shouting at him they’re so worried. Time nearly yells back, but he stops himself at the last moment, weariness settling upon him.

He does want to sleep. Desperately. But he can’t so much as close his eyes without the nightmare creeping up on him, blood and screams and pain pain pain—

Staying awake is almost more restful.

The others gang up on him that night though, and bury him in a pile of limbs and blankets, Wind settling himself right by his head. Time falls asleep feeling hopeful for once, but he still wakes up with a scream later that night, and Wind ends up calming him down as he tries not to sob.

He feels even worse after that (it’s not Wind’s job to comfort him, it should never be—), and pointedly moves himself away from the others at night, in hopes they’ll get the hint.

They don’t, really. In fact, they pointedly ignore it and continue to sleep by him, even when he wakes up thrashing and sick and nearly gives Hyrule a black eye one night with how frantically he’s moving.

He knows they only want to help, but he only feels like more and more of a problem.

They go through a portal and end up in Legend’s era, and Time wonders if the nightmares will stop with the changing of location. But if anything they get even worse, starting earlier in the fight, each slice in his skin burning when he wakes. He’s barely sleeping now, the shadows under his eyes nearly as obvious as the tattoos on his face.

No matter what he does, he can’t seem to break the grip of the nightmare, and he’s becoming a liability, slow in traveling, clumsy in fighting. They try everything to help him, healing, potions, magic— they even visit a doctor in a town they stop at, but he can’t tell them anything they don’t already know.

Time even writes to Malon about them, desperate to get his thoughts out to someone who understands, but he folds it up and doesn’t send the letter in the end, finding himself veering into questions even he doesn’t want answers to.

Has it finally been too much? All of what��s happened to me? he wonders as he tries his hardest not to cry in Warriors’ arms one night after the nightmare.

Am I going insane?

With the amount of sleep he’s been getting as of late, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

They make tracks for Legend’s house, hopeful that a real bed for Time to sleep in will help somehow. Legend also has a vast amount of magic objects and items, and he seems hopeful that at least a few have a chance of helping him.

And if not... well, perhaps the Zelda of this time will have some ideas.

But the night before they’re set to reach Legend’s house, weeks— has it truly been weeks? A month?— after the nightmares start, something finally changes.

Ganon stabs him and he breathes his last, Navi sobbing as Zelda and the sages desperately seal the beast away. He fades into darkness, simultaneously light and heavy, warm and cold, and knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s dead.

But the dream flickers here.

It’s as if an impossible amount of time goes by, and yet equally mere seconds, and the darkness falls over him again.

It seems to last for an eternity, wrapped around him, coating him in its hold as it intensifies, and suddenly Time is aware this is a dream, and snaps to sharp attention, looking around at the void.

It’s pure black, deeper even than the night sky, and Time feels his heart speed up at the suffocating thickness of it.

He’s not injured anymore. In fact, he’s himself, not the version of him that fought Ganon all those years ago, and Time stares, looking frantically around at the void.

Why hasn’t he woken up? Why is he aware, for once, that this is merely a dream?

Why is it continuing?

He doesn’t have long to ponder this, as the darkness parts eventually to show a room, stone walls, stone floor. Time has only just begun to study it when a noise hits his ears and he turns, watching in horror as a body falls to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Something moves out of the shadows and grabs the body’s face, and Time squints, trying to make out both the body and the figure shrouded in darkness.

But he can’t make out any features, the room too dark, dream too uncertain and wavering. Time feels something tense inside of him as he makes out the three gouges that mar the body’s chest, and tries even harder to see the other figure as well.

All he can make out are robes swishing over feet, in a color almost as dark as the room.

The figure studying the body finally lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back as a hand caresses a chin.

“Oh I’ve waited a long time for this,” the figure hisses in a voice that seems as if it could be familiar, and drops the head none too gently, blood still spilling to the floor.

Darkness suddenly snakes from the figure and trickles towards the body, thick and unnatural. Time has the urge to grab the body and pull it out of the way, but he’s unable to do anything but watch in horror and disgust as the darkness reaches the body, wrapping around it like only tentacles, holding it tight. It seeps into the countless wounds, and the figure lets out a laugh as the body gives a full-body shudder.

The figure straightens suddenly, standing up from where it had kneeled beside the previously very much dead body. Something moves by the figure’s face, and suddenly it falls to the ground, robes rippling as it collapses onto the floor with a very, very faint moan.

But whatever had moved by the face stays up, floating somehow, and bobbing very faintly up and down.

Time feels the slow horror he’d been experiencing suddenly increase, familiarity freezing him like a blast from an ice rod at the sight of the dark shape floating in front of him.

He knows what it is. He’s sure he does, but his mind won’t even let him entertain it.

It can’t be.

The hovering shape turns slowly to the bloody body on the ground, then floats almost leisurely towards it, watching as the tendrils of darkness continue to weave through and around it. The body gives another shudder, and the thing suddenly slips down and latches on to the body’s face.

Time can only watch in horror as the body’s back arches, like it’s trying to fight back, even just a little, but then it goes unnaturally still again.

Then it sits up almost calmly, facing away from Time as it looks at its hands and feet. The body gets to its feet then, shuddering slightly as more blood drips off of it and falls to the floor.

Time wants to look away, but he can’t, all he can do is continue to watch in absolute horror as the body straightens, dusting off its ragged tunic, brushing a hand entwined with darkness over the injuries gouged in its chest.

“I’ve always wondered what this body would be like,” a voice muses, even more terrifyingly familiar, and Time sees a flicker of yellowy-orange eyes. “And now I’ve finally got my chance. How fun.”

The yellow eyes turn and stare directly at him, framed by a heart-shaped mask.

“Isn’t that right, Hero of Time?”

And the dream shatters, Time jerking awake with a name and a scream on his lips.

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