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angeart · 8 months ago

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hhau mimic arc rambles - part III: aftermath

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

After Grian and Scar reunite, they’re tucked away in a makeshift shelter—nothing too grand, but good enough for a small pause, a little bit of rest, a faint semblance of respite.

Except, turns out, it might have to be a more permanent place to stay than they’ve thought.

It’s almost in a haze that they deal with wounds and all the other immediate things, and then Grian’s curled up and pressed against Scar, asking if they’re safe. Are they safe? Can they rest? He hasn’t had a chance to rest for a week straight—a week of moving, of running, of adrenaline and stress and, literally, fighting for his life. He’s frayed, barely holding on.

Scar assures him he can sleep. Despite the syrupy way everything feels, despite the disconcerting flicker of magic hue crawling across his skin, despite the lightheadedness that terrifies him because it reminds him of the weakness potions— He still intends to take the first watch. To guard Grian and let him rest.

Grian doesn’t need to hear more than that little assurance. Scar is warm and he’s here and Grian finally—finally—feels safe. Hopeful, even. Like maybe things will start looking up now. Like as long as his arms are draped over Scar, holding onto him, things will be okay.

He blacks out pretty fast, slinking into a deep pit of dreamless sleep.

Scar tries, he really tries to be a good guard. To stay alert and ready for any potential threat. But as he’s slumped underneath Grian’s reassuring weight, feeling his small even breaths against him, he can’t help it. His own exhaustion’s gnawing at him, stripping him of choice, and he finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Thankfully, nothing attacks them.

Grian sleeps for hours, and he wakes up dazed and disoriented after a much needed rest. It’s chilly, but not outright cold, and it takes him a moment to parse through everything to realise it’s Scar’s warmth and the weight of the cloak securely over his wings that make things so much better, curling a tentative, fragile safety behind his ribcage.

His wounds throb and his stomach churns, running on empty, but it all feels distant as Grian shifts and looks up at Scar’s sleeping face. The familiar map of scars stretching across muddied skin. Long lashes fluttering gently as Grian lifts his hand and lightly touches the stubble on his jaw, feeling the flood of fondness and grounding at the familiarly prickly texture.

His gaze jumps higher, tracing everything, taking Scar in.

Until he snags at a patch of white.

Grian jolts.

He pushes himself up and with careful hands brushes through Scar’s hair, letting his fingers slip through the white streak that starkly contrasts with the brown. He makes sure it’s not just dirty from something; that the white is real, not smudging across his fingers; a permanent mark left on Scar, a touch that this world now left on him forever.

He waits with uneasy patience, pressed close to Scar, refusing to put any distance between them. (He needs to see and feel and hear that Scar is here. That this isn’t a trick of his mind. That this isn’t some wretched half-dream.) (Scar came back. Scar came back, he found him, and— And his skin pulsed in pale blue (something that’s now thankfully gone), and his wings were tattered, and he’s got a white streak in his hair.) (Grian’s insanely worried.) (He can’t take it. He can’t take it if Scar leaves him again after all of this, in any way shape or form.)

Once Scar’s awake, with a tense little bird curled in his arms, the first thing he does is kiss the top of Grian’s head. (It feels natural.)

Grian squirms and looks up at him and he asks him, quietly, if he’s okay.

He gets back a grimace, a faltering pause, a clear hesitation.

He points out Scar’s hair, and notes how Scar’s equally as surprised as he was.

Scar blames the magic. With an awkward laugh, he says he probably overdid it. It’s gonna be fine.

Grian’s suspicious and still uneasy, but lets the explanation pass. Says they need to go find some supplies, food, maybe a better shelter.

Scar, usually eager to follow any plans that lead directly towards their survival, falls silent at that.

What falls eventually past his lips is a quiet, “I can’t.”

The sheer amount of weakness potions, the overextertion, the overuse of magic—it all culminates into an awful flare up, leaves Scar depleted and immobilised and incredibly vulnerable. And Grian’s seen a bad flare-up before. Only once when it was really bad, back in Boatem.

But back then, there was a big bed, and safe walls, and a fridge stocked with food. All Grian really had to do at that point was to keep Scar some company and occasionally fetch things from the kitchen.

Now? Now they have nothing.

They have a shelter that could barely hold upon inspection of alert eyes. They have a few sips of water left. It’s cold and harsh here, nowhere to really rest comfortably, and there’s nothing to eat.

Grian hates this. Feverishly, fervently, he hates this. He wants to make things better for Scar, but that means going out. It means losing sight of Scar and simply hoping he’ll still be there when Grian returns. (A fear that makes him feel viscerally nauseous.) (He thinks of returning back to an empty shelter, Scar and Juni both gone without a trace.)

It also means leaving Scar behind when he can’t defend himself.

The fate is stringing them up and playing with them as it twists their very first encounter and shakes it upside-down—back when Scar tucked Grian into a makeshift hiding place and had to tear himself away from him, leave him alone and defenceless without being sure Grian will still be there—or be alive at all—when he returns, as he had to go get supplies for their survival.

Now it’s on Grian to return the favour.

He pushes down the clawing edge of panic, gently brushes Scar’s hair aside with a shaky hand, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Asks him to sit tight for him. Promising he’ll be back.

The words shouldn’t feel like farewell, but they’re bitter on his tongue, and even worse in Scar’s exhausted mind. (He thinks about how he left Grian and didn’t come back to him. Leaving him completely alone, without a weapon or supplies. He thinks of the wounds that now mar Grian’s skin as a result, a reminder of a time when Scar should’ve been there but wasn’t.)

Grian always felt like he’s the burden. Like he’s the beacon, the weak link, the one to constantly drag danger and doom to them. He wonders if now Scar’s mind awfully echoes those thoughts that always plague Grian. (A distant memory of Grian asking Scar to leave him behind because he’s nothing but a dead weight slithers and burns through Grian’s mind.) (He’s not going to accept or even entertain those words should Scar ever utter them back.)

With a hastily put-together screen of dead branches and rocks, Grian tries to hide Scar away, telling him to rest.

(They both try to ignore the spike of anxiety. The way it feels final. The way it feels like this is it, another cliff edge that crumbles beneath their feet and gives them nothing to hold onto to prevent the fall.)

As Grian moves, he’s overcome with lightheadedness that threatens dark spots across his vision. His own body is depleted, barely working. Starving. He grits his teeth, takes mental note of where the hideout is, and delves deeper into the forest all on his own anyway. (He has to. He has to.)

There’s something absolutely horrible about the way he recalls the best ways to forage for food in a pinch. It’s something Juni taught him. An ironic thing, to be taught survival skills by a person who never cared whether Grian lives or dies. A person who abandoned him so very easily, leaving him in a way that almost guaranteed Grian’s demise. (And yet here he is, pushing on.) (And he’s going to keep pushing, until he’s back at Scar’s side. Until he knows Scar is okay.)

The only reason why he can now finally gather some scraps of food is because he has the cloak, shielding the violet hues of his feathers, enveloping him in muted tones that match the wintery deadness of the world around. He’s still careful as he stumbles around on unsteady limbs, crouching through his dizzy spells, trying to keep track of directions.

He makes it back to Scar, instantly welcomed by needy arms pulling him closer. Scar’s heart was tearing itself to pieces every second that Grian was gone, terrified. (What if Grian needs him out there?) (What if something happens to him?) (What if Grian never was here actually, what if that was all a weird fever dream, a lingering effect of too much magic and weakness potions?) (What if Scar is alone, and Grian’s also alone, and nothing will ever be fixed?)

Scar is insanely clingy after being separated. (Grian is too, to be fair.) With a chest full of heartache, Grian is aware of why Scar’s like that—that he’s afraid and guilty—but it does feel nice. It’s so very needed. Grian’s been alone and barely keeping himself alive through the horrors—the wounds and scars are there to show it—so when he has Scar back? He’s so desperate to reclaim that tiny fragment of safety. He keeps thinking it’ll slip through his fingers. That the moment he looks away, the moment he stops holding on, Scar will be gone again.

This all makes Grian’s repeated foraging trips that much harder, for both of them.

At one point, Grian finds a better hiding place, but doesn’t mention it, knowing Scar wouldn’t be able to make the trip. It doesn’t need to weight on Scar, that pressure of failure; the last thing Grian wants is for Scar to push himself more when he already came so close to a complete collapse.

And then there comes a day when Grian doesn’t return for far too long. Scar is worried sick, mind spinning with scenarios, each more horrible than the last, the anxieties taking over.

What if Grian doesn’t return at all?

But he does.

He comes back at the brink of dusk, coated in blood which, for the most part, isn’t his. (>> bonus ramble about that titled hunted <<)

No other incidents beyond that occur as they try to recuperate, pulling themselves together and trying to slot back into a semblance of normalcy, curled against each other’s side in their little, barely-sufficient shelter.

-- please stay --

They spend a couple of days stay put, Grian attentively fussing over Scar, chastising him whenever Scar feels like maybe he should help with things. Once Scar sleeps less and is more aware and awake, their new dynamic truly settles into place: the over-eager clinginess underlaced with guilt and fear and endless stumbling for reassurance.

One night, Scar whispers a soft, mumbled string of words into Grian’s hair. He’s thanking the worlds, the gods, the fate, anything and everything, that Grian is alive. His fractured, fragile gratitude spilling out of him in a string of half-formed sentences that aren’t meant to be heard by the sleeping avian in his arms.

Except Grian shifts and, turns out, he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

Scar shifts his words, redirects them to ones that belong to Grian and Grian alone: a string of gentle praises. That Grian stayed alive, he was so strong, so brave. Scar is so sorry.

And somewhere amidst it all: “Thank you for waiting for me. I’d never leave you, never, never—” (Except he did, even if unwillingly, unintentionally, unknowingly, and the reality of it is killing him.)

Grian has that But you did on the tip of his tongue. It tastes acidic. He doesn’t want to say it.

Instead, he just burrows closer and tightly shuts his eyes. Trying so so so hard not to think about just how long Scar didn't even realise that Grian wasn't there.

Of course Scar tried to explain, over and over. That he was weakened, dizzy, confused, scared. But it just feels like hollow excuses on his tongue. It doesn’t change anything about it, about the fact that it happened. That he didn’t even know it was happening, until it was almost too late.

In the end, Scar’s intentions and his promises amount to nothing.

He often trails off. He feels like he doesn’t deserve to cover up the searing guilt with a pile of feeble explanations, his eyes drawn to the wounds and scars that litter Grian’s skin, marks that might’ve not been there if only Scar was around. A dire reminder that Grian could’ve died, and Scar would be none the wiser.

He swallows down the excuses and tries to make up for it, to show rather than to speak the volume of his feelings. The reverent touches to Grian’s scars, his affection, his tight hold and kisses pressed into Grian’s hair.

Grian doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. It’s a tangled mess that feels too heavy and painful to untangle.

During his time alone, he didn’t know if he got abandoned, or if Scar got killed. Somehow, those seemed like the only options in his mind. To have it turn out that Scar was tricked away from him—tricked so easily—that he didn’t mean to abandon Grian, and yet failed to realise that Grian wasn’t by his side for days…

Scar finds himself apologising frequently, quiet, somber. But Grian doesn't really want those apologies. They don't make it stop hurting. They don't put lid on that thick, overflowing uncertainty that took root in his soul.

Whenever his feelings slip and spiral a bit too much, he keeps begging Scar to stay. He pleads for him to not leave him again, in a choked, broken, terrified voice.

He tells Scar he won't be able to take it the second time. He won't, he won’t.

That breaks Scar’s heart. It’s suffocating, absolutely horrible. Scar can’t even vocalize a decent response. He just shakes his head, holds Grian tighter, and weeps.

-- a familiar face --

It takes Scar a while to realise just how traumatising the whole thing was for him. Because it was more than just being terrified of losing Grian or overexterting himself. He was basically kidnapped. Tricked. Poisoned. His trust betrayed in such an absolute, irrevocable way. And the worst part of it is that Juni used Grian’s face to do all those things to him.

It keeps tripping Scar up, in unguarded, jolting moments. He finds himself sweepingly overcome with doubt, abruptly terrified that this is all a lie—that he’s still with the wrong person, being strung along, stuck in a trap he doesn’t know how to escape.

When Grian offers Scar some water, Scar finds himself hesitating. Should he drink it? What if it’s dosed with weakness? Is this just another trick? — But he doesn’t know how to check. He can’t touch Grian’s feathers. He can’t ask.

He can’t admit he’s not sure.

Grian searches Scar’s eyes, confused why Scar wouldn’t take it from him. He calls his name softly, a question that goes unanswered.

But he thinks he knows.

He knows, because Scar looks at him with the kind of unsure, frightened expression teetering on distrust that could only be rooted in one cause.

So in the evenings, Grian slots next to Scar and talks. About Hermitcraft. About past memories and plans that never came to be. About things only he would know.

He aches talking about it, but once he connects Scar’s hesitation to the fact that the mimic was wearing Grian’s face (a fact that he hates; it makes him sick to his stomach, he feels tainted, violated in ways he can’t express), he knows he has to.

First time, it all comes out wobbly and fragmented. He doesn’t get far. He can’t. The memories hurt.

But he keeps trying.

It makes Scar feel so much better. He holds Grian close and whispers an emotional little “thank you.”

-- anchor, memories, and self --

One evening, all that Grian offers is a quiet, sorrow-riddled “I miss Mumbo.” Just that. (It has to be enough.) (He doesn’t want to keep talking.)

It makes Scar choke-sob a laugh. It’s so sad, but it’s so honest, and familiar. (He misses him too.) He nods, and lets the confession linger, fill up the space between them where another person should be.

Grian curls against him, falling silent. Sad. Clingy.

They don’t say anything else that night.

But the issue persists. Of course it does, Scar himself still wrangling with the aftermath of everything, processing it and trying to find his footing. To look at Grian and really, truly understand who it is he’s looking at, without a sliver of doubt.

Grian hates that confused, searching look Scar gives him sometimes without meaning to. In little moments like when he’s tired, or just after waking up. Groggy from sleep that feels like a dose of weakness.

It feels like something was stolen from him and Grian doesn’t know how to repair it. It just hurts.

But he can’t keep talking about Hermitcraft to make it better every single time. It sets a vicious kind of pain alight within him, traps it in his ribcage for it to bloom and grow razor-sharp thorns, reminding him of everything they lost and aren’t getting back. He’s been avoiding thinking about Hermitcraft for so long, and now it’s here, pressing against the edges of his skull like wildfire.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue, like grief-drenched nostalgia, like everything he wishes to have back—every single person they lost along with their safety and home.

They’re never going to hear Mumbo’s awkward laughter again. They’ll never hear Doc grumblingly chastise them for being crazy and annoying. They’ll never see Pearl’s eyes crinkle in laughter, or Impulse’s eyes widen as they set some prank right at his feet.

They’ll never again make silly meeting rooms and pointlessly huge builds constructed for no other reason than a whim. They’ll never run to each other with inspiration chasing in their footsteps, feeling free, toppling into their friends’ arms along the way. They’ll never again hear the sound of their laughter melding in with others’, mingling into one big melody that keeps them trapped in a mutual giggling fit.

Never, never, never.

It’s all gone, and remembering hurts.

He can’t keep thinking about that, day after day after day, even if it’s to keep Scar afloat. It would consume him.

So even though it seems like the best tool to prove to Scar who he is, and he’s always glad that it helps Scar feel calmer and more secure, ultimately making it worth it every time, it doesn’t mean it’s easy—not in the slightest.

So Grian tries to implement other things. Subtle little gestures. Nonverbal language that is still closely rooted in their own intimate experiences—namely brushing his fingers over Scar’s ear.

And then he builds on it, adds to it, lends it some habitual intricacy like a secret code only the two of them will ever understand. Tracing the same swirly pattern under Scar’s ear with his fingers each time, then kissing the spot. (A little I love you ritual.) Interlacing their fingers while purposefully gathering the ribbon between their palms, or wrapping an end of it around scar’s finger.

He tells Scar his favourite spots to kiss.

He kisses them often, in a pattern.

All these things, gathered like a silent plea. It’s me. Please believe me. I love you. Stay.

Scar adores this little ritual, but he also realises why Grian is doing it—that Grian knows Scar is confused sometimes when he sees his face. And it breaks his heart, because he never got it wrong before. He wants to believe he couldn’t be fooled in his right mind, but how can he be sure, after everything that happened?

Eventually, Scar says it. He grabs Grian by his cheeks, looks at him seriously, and instead of this dance they’ve been doing around the topic, he says: “I know it’s you.”

He kisses Grian in that pattern they’ve come accustomed to. Kisses him on the lips. Keeps holding his face so so gently.

Grian tears up, gaze jumping between Scar’s eyes. Breathless and wavering, he shoots back a challenging but afraid, “Do you?”

That breaks a stitch in Scar’s patched up broken heart. He swallows hard, but insists. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” Grian whispers, and it’s still so wobbly. So very raw and emotional. He closes his eyes and leans into Scar’s touch, and it’s so trusting. So giving. He wants this to be true. He wants this to keep being true. “I’m here,” he manages to murmur. He is here, and so is Scar.

Scar nods. “You’re here.” And he normally says “I’m here”, but right now it feels more important to show how sure he is that Grian is.

It sucks how easily that asuredness was overwritten. Scar never mistook Grian and Juni for each other before. (Not even before the mimic altered his appearance slightly. Those moments when he’d look like Grian, approach Scar and touch his arm. When Grian’d bristle from across the way, just barely out of sight. Scar always responded accurately. He always innately knew it wasn’t Grian.) (It soothed Grian then, to see that. To have that sliver of security when everything else felt so awful.) (And yet… And yet.) The one time it did happen, it was so devastating, and now they’re both left in the warzone of the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild something that could hold.

Because now sometimes when Grian touches Scar, Scar reacts slightly off.

Because now Scar doesn’t know how to trust himself (or Grian) anymore.

Grian watches Scar slightly flinch, that miniscule, unsure, instinctive recoil, and he feels sick to his stomach.

But they’re in this together. They’re here, both of them, and they’ll keep building from ruins until something sticks.

-- scars and permanent damage --

This is also the time when they acquaint themselves with the permanent damage marks on their bodies.

Grian has new scars, some of them facial. They’re something Scar is forced to see all the time, knowing he wasn’t there for it. Knowing they happened while Grian was alone, struggling, fighting for his life. (If Scar was there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened—)

They don’t have mirrors, only murky water at best. Grian doesn’t even know how his face looks like now, for a long while. He can feel the scarred skin, once it stops being too tender to touch, but he prefers to keep his hands off it.

Scar touches Grian’s face, though. Gently, tenderly. He caresses the wounded bits of skin. There’s sadness to it, but also determination and acceptance. Because it means Grian’s survived. It means Grian is still alive, and Scar is now here, and he isn’t going to let anyone else touch him again. (Or, he will do his best, anyway.) (Wounds are a harsh inevitability in this world, after all.)

Once Grian gets a hint of his reflection, staring at himself and hardly recognising his face—for multiple reasons—he traces a hand across his own cheek, in a pattern he recognises from Scar’s soft touch. Feels the difference. Explores the edges, everything that’s now going to be forever a part of him. (Until he dies. Which will probably be sooner rather than later anyway, he thinks.)

He can’t exactly say he hates those scars—it’s not like he doesn’t love every inch of Scar’s face, scars regardless. But it still feels different and strange. Foreign. It makes him feel vulnerable. It makes him realise he’s been hurt, in some deep, irreversible way. (The ugly damage on his heart is finally visible—) He’ll never be the same.

He tries not to touch his face too much, or look for his reflections. But at the same time, he craves Scar’s touch against the parts of him that are so clearly broken and changed. Scar’s fingers are soft and comforting, filled with heartache. Loving, despite everything. And Grian needs that.

He’s so used to tracing Scar’s scars and kissing the pattenrs of his skin, adoring every single bit of it. But this? This is new to him. He feels unsure and shy, fragile under Scar’s fingertips.

Scar’s vulnerabilities also get revealed at around this time. When they met up, Grian caught a frantic glimpse of Scar’s wings, but there was too much panic and choking emotions to really process and address it until later.

Scar’s wings were torn to tatters months ago, and he’s kept quiet about it. Meticulously hiding them away from Grian’s sight, the secret heavy, burning through him like a lit coal. But Grian doesn’t know that—not at first.

He thinks that Scar’s wings got hurt while they were separated. While Scar was left with Juni. But as he thinks about it more… When was the last time he saw Scar’s wings?

Sheepishly, Grian asks Scar about it.

And Scar is forced to admit it happened a long time ago. That he was hiding it from him.

It stings Grian, the knowledge that Scar felt like he couldn’t tell him. That he suffered alone, tucking something so significant away.

(And it’s true the circumstances of it all were horrible—when it happened, Grian certainly wasn’t in a state to process it correctly or deal with it; he was barely alive and in the depths of a rising fever. But there were still plenty of weeks and months since, when Scar could’ve taken the chance and tell him.)

(He didn’t know how.)

(Scar himself was afraid to face the damage. To see the tattered remains of his wings. To feel what’s happened to them.) (It was much preferrable to hide them and pretend it away.)

Softly, Grian asks if he can see them. (He wants to see it; he wants to bear it together with Scar; he wants to be there for him and show gentleness, especially because this is about wings of all things.) He instantly backpedals, saying Scar doesn’t have to—especially if it would hurt.

But Scar does it before Grian can fully take it back.

It feels like a deep breath after holding it in for so long, but it’s also like a broken choke on that very same air; it feels so wrong to let them loose, but he does it. He shows Grian the extent of the damage, offers the vulnerable undersides of his shredded wings so willingly.

Grian half reaches out, then pauses. Looks over their state.

It’s horrible.

He asks, very quietly, if it hurts.

Scar’s heart leaps in his chest at that small reach, but then he pulls himself together and shakes his head. It doesn’t hurt. (Not anymore.)

Grian retracts his hand, falling silent. He doesn’t want to touch uninvited, but he isn’t sure how else to show Scar some softness and comfort. He settles for leaning in and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

It feels like an apology, and like love.

His hands wrap around Scar’s torso and he buries his face in his shoulder, simply holding him. He asks, muffledly, if they will heal? Do vexes heal over time? Scar has plenty of scars on him, but his wings are technically made of magic, so maybe they’re different?

Scar doesn’t have the answers to those questions. He doesn’t know.

Grian hugs him tighter around his middle and kisses his shoulder. He thanks Scar, for pulling them out at his request. For showing him. (There’s a lump in his throat that tells him that Scar hid this from him, for so long. He swallows it down.)

Scar mutters a quiet “Of course.”

Slowly, he’s realising just how much he wants Grian to touch his wings, but he has no idea how to ask for it when it’s something Grian can’t fathom in reverse. He can’t bring himself to ask, but he opts to wrap his wings around the both of them, even if they’re broken and offer practically nothing. (And, truthfully, it does hurt a little to strain them after all the time of them being put away with unhealed wounds, but he needs this.)

Grian shudders, taking a choked breath. He presses himself closer against Scar, trying to navigate the abrupt onslaught of emotions. Something about hurt wings and vulnerability and pain, and— The feeling of wings wrapped around him is so comforting, even despite their state. Even despite everything. His brain goes a bit haywire, thinking flock and protection.

-- kindness that persists --

They eventually talk about Juni. Little fragments of conversations that feel like tripping over uneven ground.

Scar admits he doesn’t know what the mimic wanted from him. If it was security, or something else entirely. He’ll never really know.

At some point, Grian asks, quietly. “Is he dead?”

Scar sighs, not sure how to feel about his answer. “... No.”

It’s a weird and unpleasant mix of feelings for them both.

Part of Grian wishes the mimic was dead—it would end some of the anxiety. But of course Scar didn’t do it, and another part of Grian is immensely glad for it. There’s something incredibly soothing about how much of Scar’s humanity remains intact despite everything this world throws at them. But even then, the awful feeling in the pit of Grian’s stomach remains, acidic and conflicted.

Because if the mimic is alive, he might return.

Because as long as he breathes, this might not be over.

Scar feels vile, admitting Juni is alive. It’s the first time he’s ever felt sick about not killing someone. Because what if not killing the mimic means failing in protecting Grian? It leaves too much room for this to come back and harm them again.

Being soft is what got Scar into this situation to begin with. Trusting too much, giving too much.

He felt sure about it before. Relieved he didn’t kill him. But what if he should have? Because that was once again being too damn soft and maybe he shouldn’t be.

He becomes quieter again after this. Feeling like he needs to try to be stronger, less like himself. His vex instincts rumble beneath his skin as he spirals, urging him to kill anything that threatens him and his partner.

Scar is convincing himself softness truly is a weakness. That he needs to change.

One night, he’s swelling with too many emotions as he holds Grian tight—guilt, affection, a little bit of doubt again. His chest flickers with blue light, a sign of distress, and he croaks out, “Am I—” What’s the word even? Weak? Too kind? A fool? He goes with, “Do I need to change?”

Grian squirms in his arms, peeks up at him. “No, Scar. No, nono.” His voice is stitched through with a mixture of emotions—urgency and confusion, a soft shushing and deep, rich tenderness. His fingers gently brush Scar’s face and he presses a kiss to his jaw. “Don’t change. Be my Scar. Not somebody else.”

Scar’s eyes well up with tears and he ducks his face into Grian’s shoulder, breath hitching with a sob, overwhelmed by an abrupt tide of feelings—especially upon hearing the words my Scar. It makes him ache, but in a good way.

Grian wraps his arms around him and lets him cry. He caresses and kisses his hair and murmurs soft, reassuring things to him, hoping to make it all at least slightly more bearable. To anchor him somewhere safe. Somewhere where Scar can remain himself, despite all the horrors that suffocatingly pile up on them.

Scar’s voice is small and muffled against Grian’s sweater. “What if… I get us hurt?” There’s a shaky breath afterwards, sounding quite a bit like a choked “Again.”

Grian holds on a little tighter. “It won’t be your fault.” It would be the world’s, and those who actually hurt them. He needs Scar to understand that. With another kiss pressed to Scar’s hair, he pulls away slightly, urging Scar to look at him, to meet his eyes. “I need my Scar. I need—” He chokes up a little, his vision turning blurry.

Instead of finishing whatever he was going to say, Grian leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Murmuring a small apology that all this pressure was on Scar. Promising he’ll do better, that it’s the two of them against the world—that Scar isn’t alone in this fight.

Scar doesn’t want Grian’s apologies, but… he likes this way of putting it. Them against the world.

He doesn’t need to lose his kindness. He just needs to focus it on the only person who matters.

#hhau #mimic arc #here we have some of the aftermath!!#lingering doubts and fears and so much anxiety #we get a flare up!#and white hair streak!#pattern of kisses and a truckload of grief #if you look at the au outline you might notice this aftermath part will have TWO main rambles #(the length of this one probably explains why xcknbk)#had to rearrange things a li'l bit #reformat the outline to squeeze it in #but i did it!!#part two of these main aftermath rambles will be focused on the events that happened at a hot spring cave :3c #which was fully and extensively rpd so i'll have to go through that first #but look forward!!#and also i have one bonus ramble ready!!#it's the [hunted] one #it's about that time when scar was hidden away and grian went to forage and came back late <3 #so i'll release that at some point #(bribes are allowed)#:3 #scarian

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skyward-floored · 16 days ago

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Sunlight

Downfall iau, checking back on Wind and Four and everybody again :) I've been working on this one for a while, hope you all enjoy! Helpful previous fics for context are this one, this one, and this one (but not 100% necessary to read this one lol)

(small blood/injury warning)

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Wind woke up feeling... well, less exhausted than he had when he'd fallen asleep at least.

He stared up at the ceiling of the room he and Four had landed in, his brother nestled up against his side. It was just a sofa bed tucked in the corner of what Wind guessed was a sun room or something, but it was comfortable at least.

Sun had tried to convince them to sleep in the more secure area downstairs, but Wind had refused. He wanted to know when Sky would get back as soon as possible. Plus Legend was sleeping up here too, and the thought of being away from him was... weird. There were a few emergency hiding spots up here if it was really a problem anyway, and so Sun had finally given in.

“Wind?”

Wind turned his head at the soft question, and saw Four looking at him, his younger brother’s hair a mess and eyes still fuzzy with sleep.

“Morning,” Wind said quietly, and Four breathed out, closing his eyes again.

“Morning.”

Wind watched him for a minute, lines of sunshine mostly blocked by the blinds sending stripes across Four’s face. He looked about as weary as Wind felt.

“You feeling okay?” Wind asked, and Four nodded, pushing some of the hair from his face, and reopening his eyes.

“I guess. You?”

“Same,” Wind shrugged, and Four let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Well, maybe breakfast will help,” Four said, and he sat up, yawning as rubbed his eyes. “I hope there’s eggs.”

“I hope there’s bacon,” Wind sighed, thinking longingly of the bacon Malon had been making yesterday that he hadn’t gotten to taste a single strip of. His mood immediately dipped at the sharp reminder of Malon though, and Four must have picked up on it with the way his face also fell.

“I hope she’s okay,” he whispered, and Wind nodded, his throat tight.

“I hope so too.”

A soft knock at the door made Four and Wind go quiet, but before either of them could worry much, a familiar voice asked about coming in. Relief swept over Wind as he called back that it was okay, and a feathered wingtip poked inside, both him and Four perking up.

“Sky! You made it!” Wind said with a smile, and Sky walked in, returning it.

“Yeah, I did,” he replied, and Wind didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes. “Not a scratch on me. I heard talking and figured I’d come check on you two and fill you in.”

“Any news?” Four asked quietly, and Sky sighed, sitting down on a chair.

“Not much,” he said grimly, rubbing his forehead. “Nothing about Malon, or Twilight. Things are busy out there though. We’ve been trying to monitor the radio— we think Hyrule is still their priority, but I heard at least one notice about you two and Legend and Ravio. We also picked up some chatter about investigations, and we’re a pretty likely target here for them to check out since we’re relatives. Me and Sun think it would be best for you all to stay below now,” he said apologetically, and Four and Wind both shrugged.

“If it’s safer that way,” Wind said, then fixed a smile on his face. “I wanted to see down there anyway, so this is just an excuse to do that.”

Sky chuckled. “Well I think you’ll like it. Sun actually got breakfast ready down there, so grab anything you brought, and I’ll show you around after you eat.”

Wind and Four nodded, and Sky left the two of them to get dressed and gather the measly amount of things they’d brought with them. It didn’t take either of them long— the hardest part was cramming the sofa bed back in the way it was supposed to go to be a sofa again— and soon Wind and Four were headed to the kitchen with their bags.

Legend was already there, sitting on a stool and tapping a finger against a glass of milk. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink, and maybe it was Wind’s imagination, but his eyes seemed a bit red.

“Good morning,” Wind said to him, and Legend acknowledged it with a nod, taking a silent swig of milk.

“You two got everything?” Sky asked as he appeared from around the corner, and Wind and Four nodded. “Great. This way, then.”

Sky stepped out of the kitchen and Wind and Four followed him, Legend slipping off his stool and trailing after. Sky led them through the living room and to a door in the back that led outside, sunshine spilling through the few bare-leafed trees in the yard.

“Um, I thought we were going down, where..?” Wind began to ask, but Legend cut him off.

“Sky knows what he’s doing. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Wind huffed, but didn’t push it. He wasn’t in the mood.

They walked across the yard, shoes squishing in the carpet of wet leaves and mud. It was a chilly morning despite the sunshine, a little foggy too, and Four shivered a bit, walking closer to Wind. A familiar shed slowly came into view through the fog, and Wind raised an eyebrow at the small structure.

“Isn’t that where Sky woodcarves?” Four whispered, and Wind nodded. Strange how it looked exactly the same as in their world.

Sky led them inside, pulling the door shut behind them as they looked around. The whole place smelled of wood shavings and sawdust, but Sky didn’t stand around to smell it, instead striding forward and pushing a small chest away from the wall. Wind leaned in to look, but there was nothing there except... wall.

Wind frowned, and Sky chuckled at his reaction, kneeling down and feeling his hands along the wood. He carefully positioned his hands, then pressed three of his fingers in seemingly random spots on the boards.

Wind heard a click, and then a trapdoor opened up in the floor, revealing a ladder that disappeared into darkness.

“Whoa... that’s not like that in our world,” Wind said with a hint of excitement, and he saw a curious smile on Four’s face.

Legend didn’t look surprised, and he walked silently to the trapdoor, Wind and Four hurrying behind him.

“Careful with the climb,” Sky warned, pressing his good wing close to his body. “It’s pretty dark, and the steps are a little uneven. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dropped something on my way down because of it.”

He smiled as he said it, and Wind snorted, moving so that Legend could go ahead of him. He didn’t really want to trip.

Wind and Four followed as soon as Legend’s head disappeared, slipping down into the darkness. Sky took the rear, and pressed something on the wall once they were all down. The door neatly slipped closed again, the only light coming from a small stone Sky took out of his pocket, and they all climbed steadily down the ladder.

It was small in the tunnel, and Wind felt uncomfortably like he was descending into a sewer, but the further they went the more it opened up, and it steadily grew brighter as well.

Wind heard Four let out a little noise of surprise as he reached the bottom of the ladder, and Wind couldn’t help doing the same as he looked around.

They’d ended up in what looked something like a mix between a large basement and a cave, somehow both comfortable and rough looking. It was obviously hewn from the rock, with powers of some kind of Wind had to guess, and the floor was smooth, with lights set up around that lit the cave in a warm glow. The spot where they were standing was something of an overlook, a gentle slope beside them that led to a lower area, and Wind peered over the railing, seeing crates of what must have been supplies against a wall below, and two women moving them around and chatting with each other.

Every bit of space was being used for something, though Wind saw a door that must have lead to a different area... maybe where the beds were? He even heard water running down from somewhere, and hints of fresh air on the bit of wind he was picking up, but couldn’t see where they were coming from.

All in all, the place was a lot bigger than what Wind had been expecting, and he and Four stared, flabbergasted.

“Huh?” Wind finally got out.

“We know a few people who were willing to help us out,” Sky said with a smile, running a hand along a smoothed wall. “This isn’t much, but it’s as secure as we could make it, and very few people know how to get inside. You guys should be plenty safe here.”

Wind exchanged relieved looks with Four, and even Legend looked a little more relaxed down here. They were safe.

“That’s great,” Wind grinned, and Sky smiled.

“Glad to head it. Hey Arty!” he called, and one of the women looked up.

Her blonde hair hung partially over her face, held in a tight braid over her shoulder, and it took Wind a second to place her even with the familiar name. Her face slotted in as his Aunt Artemis after a few moments though, and he blinked. He was less surprised at the sight of their other aunt then some of the people he’d seen here so far, but it was still jarring. Especially with the reminder of his uncle it brought with it.

Wind‘s stomach churned a little. Are she and Warriors..?

“Will you see if we have any extra clothes that would fit these two?” Sky asked Artemis, seeming not to notice Wind’s sudden angst. “They don't have much at the moment. I’ll help you once I’ve shown them where breakfast is.”

“No need, I’ve got it,” she called back, and then turned and walked straight through the wall.

Legend looked at the two of them like he expected them to be surprised, but Wind and Four barely even blinked. They were used to Artemis ignoring things like walls and doors. Wind was more surprised by the fact that she was here at all, and his head was still sort of stuck on that.

“...Ah. You know Artemis too?” Legend said as Sky began walking again, and they followed him down the slope. It wasn’t really a question.

“Um, yeah,” Wind replied awkwardly. “Does she... what does she do here?”

“Helps out with stuff,” Legend shrugged. “She usually goes out and helps get people out of situations they’re stuck in, since her powers are good for that. She was friends with Sun when they were younger, I don’t know the whole story.”

Wind nodded, rubbing his arm, and Legend gave him and Four a suspicious look.

“...What is she to you in your world?” he asked, and Wind and Four exchanged looks again.

“She’s... our aunt. She’s married to Warriors,” Four said quietly, and Legend’s expression creased.

“Huh,” he muttered, and didn’t ask any more questions, striding up to walk next to Sky.

Guess that answers that, Wind thought with a dull pang in his chest. It looked like she and Warriors might not even know each other here.

“Oh, hey Hyrule!”

At Four’s call Wind looked up, and he smiled as he saw Hyrule standing in the doorway they were about to head through. The healer looked about as tired as everyone else did, but he still smiled as they reached him, letting Sky affectionately nudge him with his wing.

“Hi,” Hyrule smiled, circles under his eyes almost as bad as Legend’s. “Here for breakfast?”

“Yeah. And it sounds like we’re going to be staying down here for a while after that,” Four added, and Hyrule perked up just a little.

“That’s great! I mean, not great you have to hide, of course, that’s bad, but... not many people stay here very long,” Hyrule admitted, scratching his neck. “I see a lot of people, but it’s mostly them getting supplies and stuff, or stopping by on their way to go other places.”

“Well you’re stuck with us for now,” Legend said, and despite his flat tone, Hyrule looked happy.

“Sooooo... breakfast. Please tell me you have bacon,” Wind begged as he changed the subject, and Sky laughed, Hyrule’s smile growing a bit.

“Assuming Aryll and Ravio haven’t eaten it all, yes, there’s bacon,” Sky assured, and Wind whooped, stomach growling. Sure things were terrible, and he was still worried out of his mind for Malon and Twilight, and extremely homesick, but the prospect of bacon very much cheered him up.

Four seemed to think similarly, and they headed into the living area, the delicious smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

(...)

After breakfast, during which Wind met this world’s Aryll and was relieved to find she was very much like their own, Sky showed them around as promised.

There were only a few rooms in the base, but at Wind’s guess you could probably fit a good fifty people down here before it would get uncomfortably crowded. And there were a lot of beds, which when Wind asked about, Sky explained that they often smuggled supers and other folks through here on their way to other places, and they often stayed a few nights. Nobody stayed long though, apart from a handful of people like Artemis and Hyrule.

But there were still some other people around. It was interesting to see who Wind and Four already knew and who they didn’t— Wind nearly jumped out of his skin when one of Wild’s friends showed up, but seemingly had no connection to him. It was also hard to know what to say to most of these people, especially when most of them did double takes at the sight of Four.

There may not have been many of them, but telling them the story they’d decided on for cover was weirdly exhausting. They’d gone with distant cousins, and though it wasn’t the best cover, it was better than trying to explain a whole different dimension... thing. Wind wasn’t sure how convincing they were though.

Especially since both of them almost called Artemis aunt at least twice, and by the time they moved on from talking to her, a glint of suspicion rested in her eyes.

At least exploring was fun. Wind and Four may have been tired, but they weren’t so far gone that they didn’t want to poke around an actual secret base. Hyrule showed them some of the most interesting things, and Wind even found a tiny side passage that lead to the flicker of fresh wind he’d felt, finding a little underground brook.

It all did an excellent job of keeping his mind off of things, and Wind appreciated the distraction, especially with what they’d decided at breakfast. They were going to keep monitoring the radio, and Sun planned to head out with Artemis once the sun set to look for Twilight, but the rest of them couldn’t help with that. Not while they were all high-profile and stuff. Legend argued up and down to be allowed to go, but Sun had rebuffed all of his arguments until he was finally forced to admit defeat.

Which Wind was sure meant he was going to try and sneak along, but he’d think about that later.

Right now he was letting his mind wander away from homesickness and arrests, and trying to be a good distraction for Four and Hyrule. He didn’t see much of Legend, but figured he was with Sky, since he didn’t see much of him either.

Maybe they were sleeping. They both looked like they needed it.

“Uno!”

Wind scowled, glaring over at Ravio as he waved his card in the air with a grin. It was sometime in the afternoon, and having found a couple decks of cards, they were all trying to teach Hyrule some card games since he knew pretty much none of them. Except go fish, somehow.

“That’s good for him, right?” Hyrule asked, and Wind huffed and nodded, glaring at his own huge hand of cards. All but one of them was yellow. And the color was blue.

“Yep! If he gets rid of that one, he wins,” Aryll explained helpfully, and Hyrule nodded. “But Four also has an uno, so he might win first.”

“Your turn,” Wind said as Four smiled, and Hyrule looked thoughtfully at his cards, obviously thinking through his next move. Then he gently placed a draw four on the deck.

Giving Wind four more cards.

“It was all I could play,” Hyrule said sheepishly as Wind groaned, the other players laughing at him.

“The deepest betrayal Hyrule. I’m beyond hurt,” Wind bemoaned dramatically, picking up his cards. Three of them were yellow. “Who shuffled these?!”

The laughter grew, and the game kept going, but Wind’s attention was grabbed from it when he saw Sky walk by, giving the five of them an amused look. He was headed for the ladder that led out, and Wind swallowed.

“Oh— here, give my cards to Four,” Wind said, quickly standing up. “I gotta ask Sky something. Don’t wait for me.”

“No don’t give me his! Just skip his turn until he comes back!” Four squawked, and Wind left to the sound of Aryll doing her best to make him take them.

“Hey Sky?” Wind asked hurriedly, jogging up to him. His uncle paused and looked over, a questioning look on his face, and Wind swallowed. “I... can I go up with you? I think I forgot one of my bags.”

“I could just grab it for you,” Sky offered, and Wind shuffled his feet.

“Well... yeah. I... I also wanted to talk to you,” he admitted quietly, and Sky studied him a moment, face calculating. Then he nodded.

“All right. I have some dishes up there I need to wash anyway, so you can help with those. But no dilly-dallying,” he replied, and Wind nodded. “And if I say to hide in the spot Sun showed you yesterday, then hide.”

Wind nodded, and they both began to climb, the tunnel feeling longer going up. Wind kept pace though, even when Sky’s feathers tickled his nose, and they were soon back at the top and heading into the house.

Wind quickly found his bag inside, relieved he hadn’t actually lost it since it was the one with his toothbrush, and then joined Sky in the kitchen, setting it aside and taking the towel Sky handed him.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” Sky said with a smile, and Wind returned it.

They scrubbed dishes in silence for several minutes, Sky’s wing occasionally brushing Wind’s arm. Golden sunshine spilled in through a window, making the whole room seem warmer, and a little crystal dangling from the windowsill sent flickers of rainbows across the wall. Wind watched them while he gathered his thoughts on what to say, but then Sky looked over at him, and Wind swallowed.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Sky asked, moving the sponge in a steady motion across a plate.

Wind swallowed again. “Right. Um. I was... sort of wondering, if... well. I was kind of...” Wind sighed. Better to just get it over with. “...Warriors. I wanted to ask more about him.”

Sky nodded, a conflicted look crossing his face. “Legend told me he was there yesterday.”

“He was. He was the one who... who got Malon,” Wind said quietly.

Sky breathed out, staring at the dish in his hands for a long moment while the bubbles slowly popped. “I guessed as much. Legend skimmed that part a bit, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I almost can’t believe it.”

“But that’s the thing,” Wind continued, drying a little more forcefully than necessary. “I think Warriors helped us.”

Sky’s eyebrows went up. “What?”

Wind looked over and met Sky’s eyes, setting the plate aside. “Before anyone came to the door, me and Legend saw Warriors from the roof. He was just standing there and staring at us, even after I went to go warn everyone, I think he was trying to give us a head start. And later, when... when we escaped, he froze the door behind us, in really thick ice. I think he was buying us time,” Wind finished in a whisper. “He did get Mo— Malon. But he didn’t get anyone else.”

Sky stared at Wind, then breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “That does sound like something Warriors would do.”

“But Legend doesn’t think he helped us,” Wind added quietly.

“Legend is... dealing with a lot right now,” Sky said, pain showing briefly in his eyes. There was soap in his hair now. “He’s always resented Warriors for the choices he’s made. This didn’t help, I’m sure. And his mother did just get arrested.”

“I know, but it’s like he’s not even giving him a chance,” Wind said. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s a tough situation,” Sky said softly, handing him another dish. “Try to cut Legend some slack, Wind. Warriors has been out of his life for years, and he doesn’t have the same context towards him you have.”

“I know. I’ll... try,” Wind sighed, setting aside another dry plate. “So... you really think it’s possible he helped us?”

“I couldn’t say for sure. I wasn’t there, but while Warriors has made some... difficult decisions, he’s got a good heart. I still trust him with my life. But at this point I think we’ll have to wait and see how things develop,” Sky sighed.

Wind nodded, and silence fell over them, the splash of water and clink of dishes the only noise. They’d finished with the plates and moved onto bowls when Wind hesitated, looking over at Sky.

“...I actually have another thing I want to ask about,” he said.

Sky looked up, and gestured for him to go on.

Wind breathed out. “Hyrule... he said something to me after we got him out. I haven’t told anyone in case he was wrong, but... but he thinks Time might—”

Something thudded.

Wind jumped, nearly dropping the bowl he was holding, and Sky froze, ears pricked. Wind could tell that it had come from the front door, and he swallowed, hands suddenly shaking. It hadn’t seemed like a thud of someone trying to break down the door again, but... had it been?

“Sky?” he asked quietly, and Sky carefully set down the bowl he’d been cleaning, giving his soapy hands a quick rinse.

“I know. Don’t worry, if it was someone here to search, we’d be getting a lot more yelling by now,” he said, obviously trying to sound reassuring as he wiped his hands on his pants. Wind saw him swallow. “I’ll check it out. You... better hide though, just in case.”

Wind nodded, and Sky went to the front door, his pose relaxed and casual. Wind hesitated at the sink, then quietly crept behind him, hiding in the living room doorway while Sky went to the door.

He knew he was supposed to hide, but there still hadn’t been anymore noises, and definitely no yelling. Plus Sky might need backup, Wind wasn’t going to just leave him.

Wind poked his head through the doorway, just enough that he could see the front door. Sky walked up to it and looked through the peephole, but obviously didn’t see anything as he drew back a moment later with a confused look.

“Who is it?” he called loudly, and several tense seconds went by, silence stretching out.

Sky furrowed his brow when there was no answer, no further noise or anything, and he slowly pulled open the door, Wind craning his neck so he could see who was there.

And was treated to the sight of Twilight slumped against the wall, holding his arm tightly to his chest with dried blood in his hair.

Wind’s heart stopped.

Twilight raised his head and blinked at them while they stared in shock, circles like bruises under his eyes, face sweaty and pale, and he swallowed.

“Um— h-hi,” Twilight stammered, and Sky grabbed his nephew before he could collapse, quickly tugging him inside.

“Twilight— Twilight. By the three, we thought for sure you’d been arrested!” Sky gasped as he held his arms, and Twilight quirked the faintest of smiles.

“They tried,” he mumbled as he swayed, and Sky quickly caught him, Wind noticing Twilight shake against him.

“Okay— it’s okay now. You’re safe here, we’ll fix you up,” Sky reassured, adjusting his hold and gently stroking his head. “Come here.”

He slipped his arm under Twilight’s, putting his good wing around him. Sky practically carried him in, and Twilight swallowed, looking dizzy at the movement. Wind rushed forward the moment Sky toed the door closed, and he looked frantically at Twilight, the alternate version of his brother looking like an utter disaster.

“Twilight,” he managed to stammer out, and Twilight looked at him, the same quirk of a smile on his lips.

“Hey,” he breathed, and Wind’s stomach tightened at the dried blood smeared on his cheek. “Y-you made it.”

“Yeah, I-I did,” Wind replied, waves of shock and relief still pouring over him. “And Four too, and also—”

“Hey Sky?” a voice called, the sound of the back door closing accompanying it.

Wind looked behind him, and began to rush to the doorway as he saw Legend walk into the other room, his expression vaguely annoyed. Legend turned and saw him, and sighed.

“Wind, Sun wants you downstairs, and Sky—”

Legend cut off the moment he looked behind Wind, his eyes going huge as he took in the sight of Sky supporting his missing brother. Twilight raised his head and looked at him, and an utterly relieved smile pulled at his cheeks.

“Twilight,” Legend said in a thick voice, and bolted, Twilight lurching forward to catch him halfway and hugging him tighter than anything.

Legend hugged him back, and Wind stayed quiet as Sky set his wing around his nephews. Twilight clutched at his brother like a lifeline, and Wind looked down at his feet, the familiar ache sharp in his stomach. He’d do anything to be able to hug the Twilight he knew.

“Twi they got Mom,” Legend whispered suddenly. “They were at the house, they—”

“I know,” Twilight said wearily, his face grieved as Legend pulled back a little. “We kn-knew this would happen someday.”

“But they got Mom,” Legend said thickly, and Twilight closed his eyes, a pained look on his face.

“We’ll just have to get her back,” he said, voice oddly slurred, and Wind straightened, suddenly noticing the sheer amount of red staining Twilight’s shoulder.

“Sky!” he yelped, and his uncle dove forward as Twilight’s knees buckled, face white and sweaty. Sky carefully lowered him to the floor, and Legend dropped to his side, eyes huge as Wind hurried back over to him as well.

“What happened?!” he gasped, and Sky quickly looked Twilight over, starting with his bloody shoulder and giving the rest of him a quick examination.

“Something grazed him here,” Sky said, quickly pushing up the bloodied shoulder of the shirt Twilight was in. “And there’s something up with his arm. I think he’s just exhausted otherwise, but... I don’t know for certain. He’s got some blood on him here too...”

“We should get him downstairs,” Legend said, face almost as pale as Twilight’s. “Hyrule can help him, and that’s where the supplies are.”

Sky nodded, and Legend and Wind helped him lift Twilight up, Twilight’s skin clammy where it brushed Wind’s. Twilight let out a soft groan, and Legend clutched at his hand, fire in his eyes.

Wind scrambled ahead and held the door open for Sky to go through, his head spinning with mixed relief and fear. Twilight had made it, somehow he hadn’t gotten arrested, but he was so banged up and seemed near delirious... Wind couldn’t help being worried.

But he was also so, so relieved.

Twilight made it.

Wind watched Sky carry Twilight out, Legend supporting him with a wild look, and swallowed, hurrying after.

#sorry about the slightly abrupt ending but this was already wayyyy too long #i'll do more at some point of course :)#downfall iau #writing from the floor #fic #tw injury #the base is designed like the cave on Skyloft in skyward sword #not exactly but that's the basic shape #Aryll hangs down there a lot but not too much #she's got powers but her parents have hidden them pretty well so far #don’t know if she’s quite old enough to go to school yet also so that helps #anyway i think that's all enjoy

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