#Febuwhump challenge

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 1 || “Vocal Chords”

Eden had taken everything. 

He had always known it would come to this, had always known they’d get him. From the minute he had stepped into that worn-down van with the white paint peeling off the doors, the alleyway dank and grim, smelling faintly of algae, the child in front of him so pitiful and small, he had known for certain: There was no escape. 

It was inevitable, and he knew it.

He was made to live in the warehouse. They had molded him, through long-winded lessons and strenuous physical tests, through lectures and speeches and mantras, and whatever other propaganda they could cram into his head. All of it, every single personality trait and personal moral and principle he had gained, it was all because of them. They had created him. 

He had no semblance of a life before this, before all the rules and regulations, the careful schedules and training. He was nothing; no more than a little boy with no name, no identity, no home. Running away was nothing more than a fantasy, a silly dream to be somebody else. He was Eden’s property: he’d always belong here. All of his attempts to escape it, this destiny they had bestowed upon him, was futile. 

He was never going to make it out. They’d made sure of it. 

From trackers to surveillance cameras to the fucking shock collar that ruined it all, they always had him in their sight. Thoughts of how maybe being a better soldier could have gotten him out were useless. Nothing would have worked. Even if he was somehow more resourceful, more calculative, more capable – it still would have been for naught. Eden was too great, a company that had eyes everywhere, spies planted on every street. A life of endless running would have awaited him, danger in every corner he turned. 

The truth was, he was just one orphaned, teenage boy, who had thought that maybe he could escape the future that had been set out in stone for him. He was insignificant, compared to them. 

Eden was eternal. Eden was endless.

He knew it. 

As he paced the grungy, metal-plated cell, his body alight in pain, mind twisted and warped by the time in captivity, he knew it. 

Escape was no longer an option. 

But giving up wasn’t one either. Because despite everything Eden had, despite the hoards of soldiers, new and old, undyingly loyal to the cause, despite the cameras and careful control they had over every city in the country, despite the government working closely beside them to shut up anyone defiant – anyone like him – he had something that they did not. 

He had a will. 

Although most people didn’t know it, all those inside Eden — they were scared. They were scared of change, scared of evolving, scared of the future. Scared of what Magicae represented, what co-existing meant for the rest of them. They were stuck in their ways; rigid. 

He had been rigid. For a long time, he’d been unable to see any other way than his own, too busy stuck up his own ass to see the answers right in front of him. But change, adapting, it wasn’t something to be afraid of. No, change brought just as much good as it did bad. Everything good about his life, everything he loved, it had all come from accepting change, from accepting others. 

And so, as he paced his cell, his mind racing, the eyes of the others drilling into his shivering, shaky figure, one thing was clear. He was going to make a change. 

See, Eden had underestimated him. They thought he would fall in line like he was supposed to, thought that if they beat it into him enough then he’d listen. That he’d be a good little boy like he had been trained to.  

They thought he was like the rest of them, just another faceless soldier, a toy for them to use and then discard. They thought if they trapped him by himself, took away his autonomy, pumped him with enough drugs to keep him complacent, stole his friends, his name, his identity, that he’d forget to fight. 

Well, they were wrong. 

He would scream. He’d scream until he couldn’t anymore, until his throat was raw and coated with blood. He would scream until the echoes of his ragged voice were all those filthy guards could hear. He would scream until they ripped out his fucking vocal chords, if it came to it. He’d do anything, anything, but he was not going to sit and act proper no longer. 

He was a fucking person, and they were going to treat him like it. He wasn’t some thing that they could just throw into the darkness, forget about, when he displeased them. He wasn’t going to lose himself to their control, not as much as they tried. They could mix up his memories, brainwash him and feed him lies about what he was, who he was, but none of it was going to work. 

He wasn’t going to ever stop fighting them. 

And so the boy screamed, and screamed, and screamed. If they thought he would go down so easily, they were painfully wrong. He did not care how long it took. He didn’t care what he had to do. Didn’t care what it cost him. He was going to be heard. 

They were going to listen.

TAGLIST || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

✩ Send me an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ✩

[whump-side]

Hello there, long time no see! Anyone has some whumpy recommandations ? I need some spark to produce whump art again in 2025. If you have some whumpy recommandations please send them this way (especially anime, manga and webtoons) 🙏

[quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome]

Happy @febuwhump eve to all who celebrate

[kybercrystals94]

As Febuwhump 2025 prompts approach their release, I am anticipating which ones I will be able to apply to my current, published WIPs *rubs hands together menacingly*

Anyone else planning on Febuwhump 2025: Revenge of the Sixth? @febuwhump

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day One

Prompt: Vocal cords

Febuwhump Master-post

TW: steamy kissing? Not really but just in case, non-con body modification, body modification, non-con vocal chord removal implied, obsessive love

“Dun, dun, reconnaissance mission, baum, baum, we’re sneaking around—”

Rogue tightened her hand on her dagger as they walked.

“Badum, dum, we’re spying on bad guys, bum, bum and we won’t get caught. Because we’re too damn skil—”

“Whumpee!” Rogue hissed, grabbing the youngest member of their team and slammed them against the nearest wall. Her eyes blazing as they stared into Whumpee’s wide eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop fucking singing on missions!”

Whumpee blinked, blushed and opened their mouth, but closed it again. They sagged under Rogue’s hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Well?” Leader asked when Rogue and Whumpee walked back into base. “What did you learn?”

“Supervillain recruited Fire Vigilante to her cause,” Rogue said.

Right hand paled. “What?”

Whumpee grinned, a lollipop hanging from their lips which they popped out to say, “you know, that girl who’s on fire! That girl who’s on fire-re-romf.”

Rogue slammed the lollipop back into Whumpee’s singing lips with a snarl. Leader blinked between the pair. They frowned and lifted their finger to point at the lollipop.

“Did you get them that to—”

“It was the only thing that would shut them the fuck up,” Rogue growled. “How about next time, you don’t send me on a stealth mission with someone who knows a song for every single fucking word in the dictionary.”

Whumpee glanced between the pair with wide eyes. “I don’t know a song with the word dictionary.”

Leader had to physically restrain Rogue from jumping at Whumpee who grinned like a cheshire cat. “Rogue, come on. You know you love me. You and me, me and you, the both of us together!”

“I swear to god, Whumpee, that will be the last lollipop I ever buy you if you don’t leave me alone for two days. That’s all I ask! Two days of silence, and no fucking singing!”

Whumpee paused, considering. “Deal. No singing for two days.”

Right hand nudged Medic who stood in the corner like a ghost. “I bet Whumpee can’t go twelve hours.”

Medic smiled, a cold thing. “I’ll take that bet.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to sing Bet on me, from high school musical, but restrained themselves. They could do this. They could not sing for 48 hours. It would be easy.

So easy.

Whumpee coughed as Rogue turned. Her spine stiffened. “What, Whumpee?”

“Does humming count?”

Rogue didn’t answer before she walked away. Whumpee blinked after her, eyes going to Leader. “Is that a yes or a no?”

*~*~*~*~*

Later, Leader found Rogue in her room, laying on her bed, texting on her phone. “Hey, you okay?”

Rogue slid her eyes to Leader. “Yeah. I’m fine. Whumpee just… they just get under my skin.”

“I know,” Leader said. “I’m sorry. I’ll put you on different assignments from now on.”

Rogue sat up a little. “You don’t have to—”

Leader smiled. “Please, let Whumpee and Right hand talk the ears off each other and leave the rest of us in peace for once.”

Rogue laughed. “Okay. Thank you Leader.”

Leader nodded. They glanced slyly at the phone. “Are you texting Lover?”

Rogue’s face went tulip red. She put a hand to her blushing cheek as if to hide it. “No,” she said a little too quickly. “That’s none of your business!” Leader laughed. Rogue threw a pillow at them which Leader caught and threw back.

“How long has it been now?”

“Almost a year.” Leader smiled.

“Have fun,” they said and were gone. Rogue smiled at the door, then back at her phone when she saw Lover had replied.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why isn’t Rogue coming?” Right Hand asked, folding their arms over their chest.

Leader smiled. “Because, she will be going out with Lover so it’s just the four of us for this mission.”

“What is love?! Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more,” Whumpee sang, and this time Rogue actually smiled and rolled her eyes instead of telling Whumpee to shut up.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, but couldn’t hide her smile very well.

*~*~*~*~*

Lover picked Rogue up from the base who was dressed in a flowing red gown, fancy enough for the dinner and the surprise that Lover had prepared afterwards for her. She thanked Medic for helping her with her hair and smiled at Leader as she left, waving back at her family, her team mates, as she let Lover lead her away.

Her newest member of her family.

Maybe.

If all went well.

Lover stopped outside the fanciest restaurant in the city. Rogue looked at him, eyes wide. Lover was rich, that was no shock to Rogue, he had taken after his father and worked in his father’s business. A legacy with a heart of gold. Truly unique.

“Lover…” she trailed off, unsure about the finery of this place. She was scared she would reveal herself to be too brutish, too muscled, too out for her depth, that it would be written all over her face and body.

Lover leaned over the gearbox and caught her chin between his fingers before pressing a tender kiss to her lips. “You deserve the best, Rogue,” he said kindly, his eyes shining. “You deserve better than the best, and I want to show you how much you mean to me tonight. Let me spoil you.”

Rogue blushed. She would have been happy with McDonald’s, but she nodded. Lover got out of the car and handed the keys to a valet before opening her door. Her phone buzzed in her bag but she ignored as she took his hand and followed him into the restaurant.

They laughed and drank and Rogue had to stifle a few moans of pleasure from how delicious the food was. Lover smiled his perfect smile over the table at Rogue and lifted his glass to her. “To many more years together, Rogue, you truly are something special. Probably the best person I’ve ever known.”

“Lover,” Rogue whispered bashful, hiding her face in her hands.

“You are so precious to me,” Lover whispered back. The love in his eyes was too much and too wonderful to be turned on her. “You are badass, and strong, and beautiful.”

“Lover,” she hissed, glancing around the restaurant to see if anyone heard. Lover grabbed her hand across the table, the heat of his hand going straight to her heart and shortening her breath.

“I love you,” Lover said. “And I want to show you how much after we finish this bottle.”

Rogue’s entire face went red. Her mind went to all the things Lover meant by that, her mind going to his delightful bed and his lips. As if he could read her mind, Lover smirked at her over the rim of his glass.

They got the check and went back to Lover’s car.

Lover drove smoothly, passing through the city that Rogue loved with all of her heart. The city she would happily give her life to defend. But Lover drove past the turn to his apartment. Rogue glanced at him in question and he smiled.

“We’re going to the Manor house tonight,” he told her with a twinkle in his eyes.

Rogue smirked at him. “Is that where my surprise is?”

“Now that would be telling,” Lover told her with a grin. Rogue sat back against the seat and hummed.

“So mysterious,” she murmured with a smile on her face. She could barely contain her curiosity, her excitement at how secret Lover had kept this surprise from her. It made a knot in her stomach that pulsed and pounded pleasantly as they drove from the city to the outskirts.

Millionaire’s Row as Right Hand called it once. Rogue couldn’t help but agree as they pulled along the road. It wasn’t just manors, it was full estates with gates and grounds and long stretches of road between each estate. They didn’t pass one for ten minutes as Lover pulled into the one at the end of a road.

Rogue couldn’t hold in her gasp as they drove another five minutes and finally Lover’s “Manor house” came into view. “What the fuck?” She whispered as they drove up the tree lined avenue and rounded a fountain to park in front of the steps leading up to the— “this is a castle,” Rogue said. “Not a house.”

Lover chuckled. “If you say so.”

Lover was around the car and opening Rogue’s door before she could fully comprehend his speed, the wine making her warm and fuzzy and honest. She smiled at Lover as he leaned down and kissed her again.

“God you’re so beautiful in red,” he muttered against her lips. Then he took her hand and they were giggling up the steps, running up them like teenagers. The moment Lover opened the door Rogue pushed him in and slammed him against the wall, leaning up to slam her mouth against his, lipstick be damned.

Lover laughed, kissed her back just as desperate. Just as passionate. When Rogue trailed her hands down his chest Lover grabbed her wrists with a frustrated smile.

“No, we can’t. You have to let me show you your surprise before we continue to dessert,” he said, biting her lip as he kissed her.

Rogue smiled up at him. “Okay, fine. Quickly.”

“So impatient,” Lover chastised as he took her hand and led her through the double doors into the ballroom.

“Holy—”

“I’ll give you a tour tomorrow,” he said as he turned left and went out a door and a hall that led to a set of steps. Rogue halted them at the top of the stairs. Lover glanced back at her, eyes gleaming.

“What?”

“Downstairs, in these heels?” Rogue shook her head and started to undo the straps, slipping them off and leaving them at the top of the steps as she followed him down.

“Are you taking me to a dungeon?” She joked as he led her down and down and down. Lover chuckled.

“It’s the old wine and food storage. They had to dig down into the earth to keep everything cool before fridges.”

Rogue smile lazily. “Wow, history. So sexy.”

“And here we are,” Lover announced as the stairs opened up into an expansive stone chamber. It was cold down here, which made sense from what Lover said. Noticing her chill, Lover took his suit jacket off and slung it around Rogue’s shoulders. She bundled into the warmth as he left her side. “Ready?” He asked.

Rogue blinked into the darkness then hissed as bright lights burned her eyes. She raised a hand to stop the glare and waited for her eyes to adjust. She only let her senses wander then as her eyes adjusted, she could smell it; blood.

It curdled the pleasant knot in her stomach from the drive here.

She lowered her hand and gasped.

Sitting across the room, chained to the ground with thick metal cuffs sat Whumpee. Blood soaked their hair and stained almost every inch of them. Rogue fell back a step, horror painting her features, sobering her up quickly.

“Wh- whu- Whumpee?” She asked with a gasp and then she was running. She sprinted from the exit to Whumpee who was slumped against the wall. “Whumpee?! WHUMPEE?!”

What the hell? What… what was going on?! Is this? Is— “Hey, Whumpee,” Rogue sniffled, checking Whumpee’s pulse on their throat immediately. She sobbed as she felt their heart beat under her fingers.

Rogue took in Whumpee’s black, swollen eye and blood caked mouth and chin. Rogue couldn’t stop crying. “L-Lo-lover, we need— we need to call the police, oh god.”

Oh god.

Oh god. She was going to be sick. And Whumpee wasn’t responding.

Lover was by her side in a second, taking her face in his hands. She sobbed, not caring about her makeup running as Lover leaned into kiss her. She recoiled, eyes wide and wild.

“L-Lover… I need, w-we need—”

“They’re fine, Rogue,” Lover said, pressing a kiss to her temple instead. Rogue couldn’t stop shaking. She frowned at Lover.

“N-no, they’re— oh god the blood.”

“I already had them checked over by a doctor. They’re okay. They’re just healing.”

Rogue nodded. Then blinked, weary eyes going back to Lover. To see his happy, love filled gaze fixed on her. “Surprise,” he whispered, leaning in and kissing Rogue’s neck.

Rogue stiffened beneath his lips. It was as if he had dunked her into an ice bath. “W-w-what?”

Lover booped her nose as he pulled back. “This is your surprise, silly,” he cooed. “I know how much Whumpee’s singing and incessant talking got under your skin, so I fixed them.”

Rogue froze under Lover’s touch that only repulsed her. Lover pulled back again and lifted Whumpee’s head to expose the black stitches across Whumpee’s neck like— like fucking Frankenstein’s monster.

“What— what did you do?” Rogue whispered, hands reaching to Whumpee’s neck.

“I hired a doctor to remove their vocal cords. I know how much you love them, but they would be better if they couldn’t annoy you everyday, right?”

Rogue froze in terror. “That’s how much I love you, Rogue,” Lover whispered, his breath hitting off the shell of her ear that would have sent tingles down her spine five minutes ago. Now only filled her blood with lead. “I don’t want anything to inconvenience you. You deserve better than petty annoyances.”

Oh god… oh god… she… she had to— she had to… she had to call Leader, but she didn’t— she glanced at Lover who stared at her with that adoration in his gaze.

“I know it’s a shock,” he said, bringing her into his chest. She let him. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Rogue couldn’t take her eyes off of Whumpee… Whumpee would never sing again, never speak again if she didn’t get them to a healer straight away… oh god.

Whumpee…

She had to be strong for Whumpee.

“I— love it,” she whispered because that’s all she could manage even if the words tasted like ash in her mouth. “I love it,” she repeated turning in Lover’s arms and wrapping her arms around his neck. His eyes widened in happiness.

“Yeah?”

“Of course I do,” she said and kissed him, though it felt like kissing a statue now. As if she was kissing a corpse with how repulsed she was by him, his lips, his touch his words. She pulled back and put on her best performance. “How about we finish this upstairs? It’s so cold down here.”

And there was probably better reception upstairs.

“Of course,” Lover murmured and with strong arms he lifted the pair of them, a hand hooked under her knees and across her shoulders, cradling into him. She let out a startled laugh that sounded rotten and hollow to her ears. Lover didn’t seem to hear.

She looked at Whumpee over her shoulder and vowed she would fix them. That she would make Lover pay.

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2025. Day 26. Concealing an injury

—

Whumpee hiding an injury in hopes it will get infected and make them sick enough to require medical attention, either to get a brief forced break from torment or be taken into a hospital where they can potentially ask for help to escape whumper

[bokettochild]

What about Wars and Wind for day 6??

Sure thing, luv!

I hope you enjoy this one!

Wordcount: 8,780

Rating: Teen

Summary: Warriors has a mission from Impa and the princess, one that is "military business" and thus not the responsibility of the Chain of Links. Even so, every time the captain's gone off without a brother, as far as Wind can remember, something goes wrong, so can he really let warriors leave without backup?

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The vet’s brows raise. 

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

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

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

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

  “What?” 

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

 “But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

  Staying out of trouble isn’t doing anything though. 

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

“Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

  He tries to sleep that night, he really does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Warriors would never have to know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Following after is his downfall. 

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

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

Well, shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 

It’s official: he’s screwed. 

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

And then it starts.  

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

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

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

“Really?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any other injuries?” 

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

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

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

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

“He needs backup-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”He can’t hold that long!” 

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

There’s so much blood. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whole group of them wait with bated breath. 

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to be sick. 

“Tune.”  

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

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

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

“I’m disappointed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet it did.” 

“I was trying to look out for you!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He screwed up. 

[snowberriesromanoff]

Real Kiss: a ficlet

Pairing: Harper Row/Stephanie Brown

Prompts

Febuwhump @febuwhump : vocal chords

February Ficlet Challenge @februaryficletchallenge : "buckle up" and "survive"

Femslash February Bingo @femslash-february : "You could've died"

"Buckle up, buttercup,” Harper makes a show of adjusting the straps on Steph's parachute.

“You're ridiculous,” says Steph. 

“And you love it,” Harper blows her a kiss.

“I do,” Steph catches it between her fingers. Something about the motion makes something in her ache. “Please don't die.”

“Right back at you, baby,” Harper’s tone shifts, and for a split-second Steph wonders if they're afraid too. It makes sense - all Steph has to do is jump out of the plane; Harper has to land it. Then their normal expression is back. Steph reassures herself of one of the core truths of their relationship: Harper Row isn't afraid of anything.

Steph isn't either. It's why they work so well. “Come over here and kiss me for real.”

“I have to give us both something to look forward to.” There's an uncharacteristic seriousness in their tone.

“I'm holding you to that,” Steph swallows.

“You better,” Harper shoots her finger guns and heads for the cockpit.

Steph's delayed long enough. She jumps. The chute opens. Steering it the rest of the way down is just muscle memory after that. She's going to be just fine.

She hits the ground in time to watch Harper's descent. It isn't an easy one. The plane starts to stall out. A scream builds in Steph's throat and gets caught in her vocal chords.

Come on, Harper. You owe me a real kiss.

Then Harper gently coaxes the plane back into motion. It glides onto the makeshift runaway, jittery-but-stable. Harper scrambles out of the cockpit. They hit the ground hard. Steph cuts herself free of the chute and runs towards them, faster than she's ever run in her life.

She can hear Harper cursing under their breath as they pull themself to their feet. Steph reaches them. They have scrapes on their knees and arms and a wild look in their eyes. 

“You're alive,” Steph breathes into her partner's chest.

“So are you,” Harper says, and kisses her. They hold Steph tightly as they dust her head with more soft kisses. Steph leans into their touches. She never wants them to stop. “We both are.”

[chaoticbooklesbian]

I'm planning on doing Febuwhump, and I'm torn on how to post my pieces. They'll all (hopefully) be more along the lines of this micro-fiction prompt than my usual insane wordcount, but who knows. (Side note, still accepting micro-fiction prompts, if anyone feels like sending one!)

No nuance, simply Choose.

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

@febuwhump september special prompt 4: Warzone

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 22 || “Grab the little one”

TW: Descriptions of violence and neglect, implied death, implied torture

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

It was by the third day that rescue came. 

The room reeked of death, mold and feces stretching along every visible surface inside the room. With only the faint gleam of moonlight filtering through the cracks of the desecrated wall, the child was submerged in darkness. Alone, the stench of blood and decay burning the insides of their nostrils, wounds reducing them to a shivering, curled-up ball. A sense of hopelessness had befallen the child, a hopelessness that only those that belonged to the Immortai were familiar with. 

It was with this very day that two hunters on a patrol stumbled into the rubble. 

Younger recruits, they were inexperienced, the true horrors of the job not having caught up to them yet. Naive, inept teens – some might even say foolish. Though, what better word to explain a soldier fighting a losing battle? 

“Oh my god.”

The sight of the scene before them brought a lump to their throats. The desecrated bodies, scattered throughout the room. Red pooling in every direction. The child curled up in the wreckage, silvery hair littered by the darkened red splatters of blood, a pure sort of innocence radiating from them. So small, so fragile. 

And still yet, in the very center of their chest, was a blackened, gaping hole. 

Who could have done such a thing?

The more courageous of the two, a short stringy boy who had a bit more control over his stomach, stumbled forwards first. Despite the shake inside his limbs, lip quivering with a sort of fear that most missions prior hadn’t brought – fighting demons and saving lives had always been something exciting, an adventure; this was neither of those things – he dropped down onto his knees, kneeling next to the wounded child. 

Shaking fingers pressed against their neck in a terrible desperation, a certain undeniable relief flooding through the boy at the beating of a pulse underneath his fingertips, however weak it was.

“Alive.” He gasped, voice nothing but a whispered hush. The thought of speaking normally while sitting in the remains of a room so horrific was a thought he could not fathom. “The kid’s alive.”

He turned to his companion then, eyes searching the slightly older teen for some sort of answer. “What are we going to do with her?” 

The boy, barely on the brink of adulthood, stared down at the little kid, bloody and starved, and a certain clarity fell upon him at once. “Grab the little one.” He said, swallowing down the rising bile inside his throat. The idea of staying inside this place, this symbol of terror and destruction, something he could not allow. 

But it was also one he would not allow this child, this poor innocent creature, to suffer through no more either. If he was sick after only mere moments here, he had no clue how the kid was feeling after god-knows how long.

“We’re taking her back to the Sector.”

TAGLIST || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

✩ Send an ask/dm to be added/removed from the taglist ✩

[psychologeek]

Lab Rat (pt. 4)

FEBUWHUMP - DAY 14: blood-stained tiles

Tw: undercut, little gore (mention of blood and implied vivi/dissection

It was a strike of luck, that's all. Just a second to look aside. Just a short gaze, and she would have missed it.

Jason's bed is comfortable, but she can't sleep.

She didn't really get the chance to pack properly for the weather, but this hoodie is thick and warm and that's enough.

She checks the time –

She's been in bed for three hours now, but she can't sleep. Every time she close her eyes -

(Green on the stairs, and she went upstairs to tell Danny to clean it–)

Every time she stops moving -

(Glowing-green ropes by her brother's bed)

She just try to stop

(In a closer look, she could see the way they were tied to the bed.)

Just stop thinking

(Going down to the basement)

Just stop seeing

(Scattered green and blood-stained tiles)

The house is quiet

(It was quiet. Just casual talks. No screaming.)

They are safe. They are not there. They are states away.

(The surprised looks on their face. Suprised that she told them to stop.)

She's giving up. Better get up and make herself–

(“Here, dear, make yourself useful - we have a suit for you!”)

–Useful.

It's a good thing J made them a tour when they arrived. She make it to the bathroom right on time. Not like she has anything to vomit, but the tears and stomach acid and pain aren't something she wants anyone to see her.

~

(Like it? I have more mini-fics in this au. And full size fics on ao3. please vote in my update poll! And the one for next week! Bc I try to work ahead LMAO)

[newwwwusername]

Fic title : Val's Never Cared Much About On-Set Safety Measures

@febuwhump 2024 prompt : Rope burns

Rating : Teen & Up Audiences

Fandom : Hazbin Hotel

Pairing : Husk/Angel Dust

Additional tags : Rope Burn, Minor Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Caring Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Needs a Hug (Hazbin Hotel), First Aid, Bandages, Work Injuries, Abusive Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)

Word count : 253

[jinxedruby]

Febuwhump Day Five: Rope Burns

Featuring Legend and Sky. Heads up for a panic attack. It's not super descriptive, but I thought I'd put the warning just in case

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

-------------------------------

Awareness returned to Legend slowly.

The sharp throbbing in his temples made itself known first, pulsing behind his eyes and under his teeth. He groaned, prying his eyelids apart, blinking to clear the grittiness. Wooden floorboards sprawled out beneath him, the smell of mildew clogging his nose. The room around him pulsed and he closed his eyes with another groan. He’d had many concussions in his time, but this one certainly tried to succeed at being the worst. Each pound of his heart sent pain surging down his neck and shoulders, radiating through his chest and arms. How many times had they hit him? He remembered it took two to knock him out the first time. Then he woke up so they hit him again. What did they even want? He couldn’t recall. All he really remembered was being somewhere with Sky and then-

Sky.

He forced his eyes open, heartrate picking up. Tears of pain welled in his eyes as he dragged his gaze around the small room he lay in. Rusty iron bars made up the wall ahead of him, the other two built with the same wooden planks as the floor. He took a breath as his head throbbed, attempting to sit up. Just tensing the muscles in his neck to lift his head wrapped his skull in invisible bands that made it feel on the verge of caving in. The constant rocking most certainly did nothing to help, either.

Rocking?

He took a deep breath, letting himself go limp in favor of focusing on the constant motion. It only took him a moment to recognize the sensation. He was on the ocean. Now that he directed his attention to it, he could hear water lapping against wood. He was on a ship. He gritted his teeth as nausea rose in his throat. No, no, it was fine. He was fine. His back prickled and he tossed his head. As expected, pounding pain burst within his skull, assaulting all of his senses. It made the nausea worse but at least the prickling in his back stopped. Once the pain subsided, he cautiously opened his eyes again. Okay. He needed a plan. A glance around the cell told him he was alone. If Sky had been caught as well, he was somewhere else. Saving Sky would be step two. Step one would be to escape himself. Step three would be… hope they weren’t over deep ocean and swim for it. Which was a terrible idea with Sky’s breathing but thinking about anything more complicated than that hurt too much. New step three was cross that bridge when he got there.

He tried to move his arms only to find they were bound behind his back. Not surprising, and he could deal with that. Assuming they hadn’t taken the knife from his boot. He bent his legs, arching his back and stretching his arms as far down as he could. The pressure on his head increased tenfold and he went limp with a gasp, black and red splotches winking in the edges of vision. He let his eyes slide shut for a moment, breathing shallowly through his mouth. The ship lurched as a wave collided with it and he bit his lip, fighting back the nausea prodding beneath his chin. After what felt like an eternity, the ship and his stomach settled. Without opening his eyes, he contorted again, struggling to reach his boot. The ropes around his wrists rubbed at his skin as the pressure in his head increased again. He ignored it for as long as he could, fingertips just brushing the back of his boots. A myriad of colors swam beneath his eyelids. He couldn’t hear the water over the throbbing of blood through his ears. He went lax again, gasping out a curse. He really wished he’d opted for a smaller knife in the heel of his boot rather than the longer one along the side of his calf. If his boots weren’t so high he could probably reach it. No, he thought as the pounding in his head subsided to a somewhat tolerable intensity. No, I have to reach it. I have to find Sky.

With that thought, he tried once again. He twisted his legs in different directions in an attempt to slip his fingers into his boot. Forcing through the vice crushing his skull, he stretched and curled. The ropes dug into his skin, pain sparking where they rubbed. His fingertips hooked the top of his boot. A momentary feeling of triumph zipped through him before he realized he couldn’t angle his fingers far enough down to reach the knife. He tried anyway, despite the cramping in his legs and the agony in his head.

The ropes screeched against flesh and his heart stuttered. His wrists burned, rubbed raw by the twine. The floor rocked beneath him and he winced, curling into himself. The motion caused the ropes to twist across his skin again. He hissed through his teeth as hot needles stabbed into his flesh. Another wave crashed against the ship, lightning cracking through the sky. No, no, there’s no lightning, it- Phantom sensations crawled up his back, jabbing at his nerves. The boat- ship bucked, ropes digging deeper against his han- wrists. A whine built in his throat, nausea spiking as panic flooded his veins. It was fine, it was just one little rope, there was no storm, he was fine-

Something above deck slammed and the ocean seemed to roar in his ears. Rain lashed against his face-No, no, it- it- did the ship spring a leak? It did, seawater sloshed around his ankles, yanking at his balance- I’m lying on the floor. Focus on the floor Link, you’re on the floor, it smells like- like mildew, it- Thunder boomed in his ears and he tightened his grip on the rope, clinging to it for dear life- You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re- He felt the lightning before anything. The world turned white as pure agony sliced down along his spine.

He curled in on himself further, choking for breath, pain splitting his skull in half. The ropes burned his wrists but he could feel it in his hands, the air and seawater stinging his palms. A loud noise blared overhead again, a shout warping into the boom of thunder. He flinched and turned his face to the floor, desperately trying to focus on the feeling of wood under his cheek, the smell of mildew and mold. But he could only feel the rocking, the burning, the electricity in his nerves-

“Veteran!”

He peeled his eyelids apart, eyes roving painfully around the blurry mess of a cell. A colorful blob stood on the other side the warping bars, light green and red. More words hovered near Legend’s ears but he could only focus on the red. He mumbled something, a name, slurred and uncertain. Green morphed to pale blue and he closed his eyes, unwilling to see what he knew couldn’t be there. Time skipped forward a few steps, a hand suddenly on his shoulder, gently shaking him. The rocking-

“Vet, I’m so sorry I took so long,” Sky said. Oh, good, Sky’s okay.

Sky kept talking but Legend didn’t really hear, opening his mouth and talking over him. “Sky, di’ y… wh… where’s… ‘ere, where’s…”

“We’re moored at some… some dock, I’m not sure-“ Fingers gently prodded at Legend’s head and he groaned in protest, the tension looping his skull tightening again. “Oh, your head…”

Sky said something else that didn’t register but it sounded like a question so Legend just nodded. In the next moment, the world tipped as Sky wrapped an arm around his shoulders and lifted him up. Legend groaned, wishing he’d said no to Sky’s apparent question to move him. Sky said something else, voice only occasionally penetrating the thick fog settled in Legend’s ears. He tried to pick out more of the words but the world pitched and yawed beneath him, stomach roiling. Before Sky could finish talking, Legend lurched to the side and vomited. A hand rubbed against his back, another on his chest to keep him upright. He whimpered at the pain the action brought him, slumping sideways against something soft and warm. A hand wrapped around his shoulder, holding him secure so he wouldn’t tip over. Then Sky’s voice finally broke through his ears with clarity.

“Link, I’m going to carry you out of here, okay?”

That sounded like the actual worst thing Sky could do to him in that moment. But Legend could hardly think at all so he nodded.

An arm pressed against his back, another under his knees. He had just enough time to panic at the sensation in his back before Sky pulled him off the floor. Vertigo exploded in his head with renewed vigor and it took everything in his power not to throw up again. He pressed his face against Sky’s chest, taking shallow breaths through his mouth as Sky began to walk. His nose filled with the pleasant, sweet scent that always clung to Sky’s sailcloth. He directed all his attention to that smell in an attempt to stave off the pain and nausea assaulting him at every turn. Light burst on the other side of his eyelids, Sky suddenly began to run at one point. The jarring motion made Legend’s stomach churn but he kept his mind solely focused on the sweet smell. He could feel the breath rattling in Sky’s chest but the knight kept on running, gasping something that Legend couldn’t hear. Someone shouted, Sky stumbled but kept going. Each jolting footstep pounded between Legend’s eyes. Time slurred, mixing with the pain into a mucky slush. The world tilted, the arms turned to something soft under his back. Something pressed to his lips and he threw up, the vice tightening around his head. Murmured words, all soft. What happened to Sky, is he okay? The pressure against his wrists increased for a moment before vanishing, cool air stinging the raw flesh. Have to find Sky, where is he, is he okay-

“-here, Vet, I’m right here.”

Fingers threaded with his own, calloused and warm. A sweet scent filled his nose. The hand holding his squeezed gently. Legend managed to weakly squeeze back before the ocean finally pulled him under.

[eat-your-milk]

I thiiink im gonna give up on being a completionist for febuwhump. The next 3 prompts just don't feel to fun to write, and Id rather not burn myself out on writing by doing prompts I don't wanna do.

I also wanna get back to my longfic. I feel like I abandoned my child.

But! Ill still do the prompts that call to me, so be on the lookout! :D

[bokettochild]

For the febuwhump prompts, how about Mask and Captain Link with either hostage situation or "you weren't supposed to be there"?

Since the whole "hostage situation" got requested by someone else as well, I ended up going for the other option!

And hey, we're a month late, but I'm working two jobs so I think it should be fine LOL

Anyways, here, have some Captain Link freaking out about Mask's safety!

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1,610 (Mask cuts my word counts in half LOL)

Summary: Caught in a battle with the tides against them, Captain Link elects to use some slightly less than honorable methods to down their monster enemies. Mask isn't told about the plan though, but maybe he should have been...

-

  War isn’t pretty.  Sacrifices are something that often must be made, most commonly in the forms of life, of soldiers, but sometimes at a cost to the land, to cities, to integrity and honor. Winning isn’t easy, and it’s rare an enemy will play by the rules, so there’s rarely any point in doing so yourself either. That doesn’t make Link feel any better about his decision, but it’s the truth. He can’t play fair against demons if he wants to win. 

  “The bombs are placed sir.” A soldier announces, throwing a quick salute, one that he nods to acknowledge. 

  Behind him, the battle still rages, but Impa had demanded he fall back long enough to at least have his own wounds bound before charging back into the fray. In that time, he’s laid some quick plans, and while the idea of causing the very ground to collapse beneath the feet of the enemy camp isn’t something he’s proud of, he has high expectations that it will turn the tides in their favor. 

  That’s what matters, in the long run. Stopping the enemy, no matter how, and getting his own people out of here alive. Even so, he doesn’t like it. He’d hate to have such a tactic used on his people, and he knows the hylian army would call it dirty and lowdown of the enemy to do the same. Still, the odds are far from in their favor, and he’s got to level the playing field somehow. Leveling the actual field of battle by collapsing the ground beneath their camp, behind their defenses, is the best chance he’s got. 

  “Set to blast?” 

  “Five minutes, sir.” 

  He wishes he had a clock on him, or some sort of watch or other time keeping device, but he doesn’t, and he can’t. He’s got enough gear to mind, and the ever-present tick of a clock would only serve to drive him mad in the long run. 

  He waves off the thought and turns his attention back to the battle, although one part of his mind stays focused on the field medic binding his wounds. Potions are running low, and until they can stop long enough to acquire ore from Ravio, they need to save what they have for the more serious injuries, or those near death. Using a potion on himself when he’s only been stabbed a couple times is pointless. Still, he doesn’t trust medics as a rule, so letting them work without waiting for the inevitable “mistake” won’t stand. 

  He only breathes freely when the medic leaves, and he’s free to reach for the Master Sword again and return to battle. Even then though, his breathing isn’t as steady as he’s like, what with the bruised ribs and all. 

  “Countdown?” He asks his lieutenant. 

  “Two minutes.” 

  They have only a little longer to wait until the ground collapses, and his own people are too far ack to be affected, still tackling the front lines of the enemy, not the archers and far larger beasts that throw heavy clods of earth and explosives down amid them. 

  Two minutes. Then the assault will stop, and his people can sweep in and finish this mission. Two minutes and the monsters they’re fighting won’t have backup or cover fire to aid them, and the hylian forces can overtake at long last.  

  He scans the field briefly. He’s not heading back in, not yet. The men don’t know the cliffs will be going down, and they’ll need direction when they do. They’ll need instruction, and he’ll be the one to provide it when that happens, coming back down amid them to offer guidance and direction. First though, he needs to ensure that all goes as intended, and be prepared on the chance that it doesn’t for one reason or another. 

  “One minute sir.” His lieutenant pants. They’re both tired, they've been fighting for hours without rest and all of them are flagging.  

  “Hold in there, lieutenant,” he tries to assure. “We’ll have them.” A charming smile, one Impa had made sure was trained into him, weas ready to unleash, was something to settle and strengthen and give hope, a confident look and glitter of the eyes, seems to settle the man at his side. 

  “Aye, captain.” A weak attempt at a smile answers his own bright one. “We- sir!” Dark eyes widen in horror as they fix behind him on the enemy, and Link turns through force of habit to catch sight of the foe, the change of the tides, the danger that no doubt lies behind him. “Mask!” 

  It takes a second, but then he sees it. A little flicker of yellow against the sea of silver and red. A little kitsune mask bobbing at the hip of a child who’s charging, alone, blade charged with magic and felling monsters with ease born of experience, uphill. Uphill into the blast zone. Uphill towards the camp and leading some of their soldiers, although the men are harder pressed to follow his lead in slipping through the enemy lines, no matter how hard they try. Uphill into where only seconds remain before bombs take out the land and level the camp, leaving nothing but rubble behind. 

  His feet are moving before his mind has time to catch up to him, a shout on his lips and panic making his heart race. 

  “Sir!” His lieutenant’s voice raises, but the rest in lost in the sounds of a blast that has a rumble filling the air around them, screams of the enemy rising beside the sounds of tumbling earth, crumbling and cracking rock, and flames that last only as long as the explosion before being smothered with the falling rubble. 

  A gust of smoke and cloud of dirt arises, blowing back against them, blinding all, even the enemy, temporarily and giving his men time to strike out blindly at where their foes last were even while the beasts startle and pause with sight lost. “Press forwards! Hold the line!” He manages to shout, gathering his own wits enough to supply commands to his men, commands that echo back as officers repeat the orders to their men, a chorus that echos even as he moves with them. 

  There’s no trace of yellow up ahead, not in the rubble of what’s left, but he moves along anyways. He strikes the fallen foes that still sow signs of life, be it in flailing limbs or shrieking from piglike snouts. Blood paints the path he takes, but his gaze searches for bright and sunny yellow, something innocent and warm against the battlefield around them.  

  Cries, shouts, screams and the clashing of blades fills his ears, drowns out any shout he calls out into the rubble, but the tide of the battle is changing he can hear his men’s voices rising, hear the hope as they push their way past, felling their foe now that bombs and arrows don’t rain down from overhead upon them to make them fall back again and again. His mind isn’t on their victory though. There's a part of him, a part that knows he must remain focused, set, poised, ready, aware; something that tracks where they stand and how they fare, but another part searches. 

  The monsters fall in waves. The beasts within the rubble give their final cries as his blade ends their miserable lives. His men begin to shout their victory as the sounds of blades clashing dims, fades entirely, but their captain does not celebrate beside them. 

  He is searching. With the enemy felled he can drop his sword, drop to his knees to push aside rubble, dirt, stone, anything that’s left of the tumbled apart camp. 

  Proxi whizzes about; searching, calling. His voice rises beside hers. “Mask! Kid, come on!” 

  There’s no returning call. 

 “Please!” 

  Behind him, there’s murmuring. Shouts fade, feet fall. There’s a rush of booted steps and then hands are helping to lift away the rubble. Voices of every sort rise to call out, their cries all the same. “Mask! Where are you, kid?” Searching for a flicker of yellow, a head of yellow hair or a familiar smiling mask. Searching for a smirking face, a little troublemaker. 

  The fairies dart, the men sift, the cries of all sound over the field in the absence of a monster’s squeals. The joy of victory fades as they look for a single soul caught in the winning blow. Caught where he was never meant to be, at the worst of times for him to have slipped loose from amidst them. 

  It feels like forever, the moving of ruble, the sifting, the calling. Each second is torture, heart pounding fit to burst in his throat as he tears through the remains of the enemy camp. Not here, not there. Not amid the monsters but not far away. He’s frantic, pushing aside burdens that, in his right mind, he’d ever dare attempt to move alone. The singing of pain through his frame, through every muscle and bone, is ignored as he tears through, searching, searching, searching- 

  “Captain Link!” 

  Yellow, paint chipped and steaked with dirt and blood. Yellow matted and filthy strands, the face beneath just as stained. He doesn’t care though. He’s gathering up the tiny form in his arms and holding, clinging, fingers searching for a pulse even as his own reaches speeds he didn’t know possible. 

  The faint little beat beneath his fingertips is enough to have a sob escaping past the heart in his throat. 

  His kid is alive. He’s alive, he’s going to be okay. Link clings tightly, holding the boy close. He’s alive. Thank Hylia, he’s alive.