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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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The Great Current is, as most things in Hades’ domain, expressly forbidden.

The Surface is iffy grounds. If Nico is feeling strong enough to brave his father, he may attempt to convince him to allow him up on the ice sheets long enough to catch some of the sun, unbidden, even as he is burned by the winds. If he is lucky he will have the time to watch the penguins as they tussle, leaping and bounding down their steep slides. If he is luckier Hades will allow Hazel to come with him, and he will poke her in the ribs, teasing, one when of the nestlings waddles after its father, tripping down the slope and rolling into a feathery birdball. On his luckiest days she will shove him tail over fin as she cursesinto a half-frozen ravine, cackling as he shrieks his promise for revenge.

Neither have them have been to the Surface in a some time.

It’s hard in the winters, he knows. Air whistles away the sun’s warmth so quickly, as flighty and biting as a dolphin, and to be beached upon the ice sheets in the dark is to die buried and forgotten under the snow, too far gone even too pay the due rites. But even the dry and barren ice sheets are a mercy compared to beyond the Great Current. As much as Nico chafes under Hades’ frozen glare and icicle rule, his strictness is protective. He has swum the wide expanse outside of the Underworld; endured the desert endlessness, the scarcity, the risk. Here m, within the boundaries of the Current, the boundaries in which Hades as confined them, they have plenty. Here there is no surface untouched. Here there is ice and cold and silent, endless stillness, but never emptiness. Inside the Current, inside the castle walls, is safe.

Nico peers around the castle wall. A small hole in the ice-crust allows a beam of sunlight, brightening the grounds significantly more than inside, bouncing and twinkling off the frozen pillars. Many of the bottom feeders have retreated away from it, slinking into the shadowy corners, but a minke whale floats near the surface, basking in the heat. Her warped shadow leads a trail across the grounds to a small-mouthed tunnel — more of a crack in the ice sheets than anything.

She catches sight of Nico’s lingering form, raising a lazy brow. He shrugs — minkes, unlike his father’s favoured starfish, know to mind their own — and smiles sheepishly. She holds his gaze for a moment, blinking long and slow, and then begins carelessly floating upwards towards the square. With every inch, her shadow grows larger, darker.

Nico grins.

As fast as he dares, mindful of the chattery crabs still hiding along the edges of the seafloor, Nico darts across the path, keeping every stroke of his tail short and shallow to remain within the minke’s shadow. She, for her part, takes an extra-long breath, cheekily enjoying the sweet air of the wintery Surface, remaining up top until Nico is curled entirely in the tiny crack, careful to tuck his fins against the ice walls.

“Thank you,” he whispers, poking his head out.

She shifts, humming low and rumbly. She begins her descent, slower even than her climb to fresh air, and winks when she is low enough to be eye level. Nico waves one more time before turning and rushing, careful not to get stuck between narrow walls, through the tunnel. The ice is slick enough to almost push him through, which is as fun as it is disorienting. The isopods hadn’t mentioned that when he’d asked for directions, but he supposes they’re not quite big enough to notice. Nor are they very smart, so Nico will have to take the sacrifice. The crabs would have surely tattled to his father after one too many questions.

He’d worried, in the weeks he’d planned this, that he would grow tired in the middle of the tunnel and die, hands outstretched, trying to wiggle his way out either end. Usually during long swims he can simply float somewhere to rest, or lie against the back of a blue whale if there’s one around. (Aside from the scratchy barnacles a whale ride is almost pleasant.) But the tunnels are thin and long, and colder than the regular waters. If he pauses to catch his breath, how long would he have before the blood moved too sluggishly in his veins; before eternal sleep would pull as he used to on Bianca’s sweeping fins? A question he’d save usually for Seph, on her kind days, but they’d been few and far between. Lately the cold has made her irritable.

Thankfully, his worries had been unfounded. Energy thrums unusually in the cavity of his chest, pounding along with the erratic beat of his heart. Even if he grew tired the endless twitches of his tail would surely propel him forward enough to eventually escape the tunnel’s narrow confines. Even moreso when the end of the tunnel begins to grow brighter, burning his pupil-blown eyes — he’s close. Bright enough to be blue, the isopods had promised; nothing but sun past the widest expanse of the ice. Sun and churning, twirling water, disturbed flurries of floor flakes.

His heart grows loud enough to echo, with every swish pushing him closer to the exit.

When the tip of his head breaches the narrow end of the passage, he hesitates. The tunnel has widened, now, wide enough that he can just barely bend his tail up under him, fins brushing gently on the round icy walls. His hair has escaped from his tie in his rapid drag against the ice and it floats around his head, now, inky against the startling bright blue of the definitely-warmer water.

The stories his father would warn of him, when he and his sisters were young. The stories he still tells, when he catches Nico watching out the castle windows. Of snarling mers and sharpened coral, of flesh-feasters, of endless grudges. Of monsters from the depths and water hot enough to boil a mer alive.

He is fabricating. Or at least exaggerating; that kind of danger cannot be so adequately held behind a border. Not for so long.

Other mers must be gone by now, mustn’t they? So much fighting, so many wars…wiggling migration lines and danger after danger…endless scarcity of food, of shelter…even the relentless beat of the sun, with no ice for shelter. How could they survive? Seph braves the Current to pay her respects, as is her duty. The restless dead are worth the risk of the living; they demand that respect. But had her kin lain inside the Current, she surely would never breach it. She charges under Hades’ strictness, sours under his chains like the rest of them, but she returns. With great harry, usually. The Underworld is the only place the Ocean will accept his kind; will welcome them.

But a visit is, Nico is sure, warranted.

Without another lingering second to talk himself out of it, Nico darts forward. The moment he is free from the close-cropped ice walls he can feel the difference, the beat of the sun pressing into his skin, the giggling warmth of the shallow waters. The unbelievable blue of the water makes him lighter, makes the near-translucence of his skin even more obvious, the dark of his hair almost navy. He spins, once, to watch his scales catch the light, his fins flare out and swirl against each other in a spiral as dizzying as snail shells. The smile on his face is wide and unbidden, ache pulling at his cheek, and he can’t help quiet laughter, carried away by the roar of the Current.

He’s hardly a few dozen sponge-lengths from home, but he feels as if he’s woken up from a dream, floating within a brand-new planet.

All the worries that had plagued him burn to melting lava in the bright heat of the sun. They have no place to fester here, in the shimmering light, the roaring water. The flakes from the seafloor shoot upwards in a constant stream, unrested by the rapidly cycling streams, and they catch the sunlight in little burst of light, dotting Nico’s skin. He’s seen snow like this only in the deadliest of Surface storms, watched safely from the thinnest sheets of ice in the top of his father’s castle, but it is beautiful without the barrier; delicate.

There is no one beyond the Current. Only pods of dolphins, at this time of year, and the beautiful, brainless fish they brag of teasing; graceful whale sharks and pretty pink corals. Nico won’t stray too far. He only needs shells, glittering and iridescent, and a moment in the open sea. Hardly longer than a minute, really.

He needs to feel it. For himself. To say that he’s done it, if nothing else, to remember in his own head that there is somewhere outside his father’s domain.

With a resolute, steady nod to himself, Nico swims towards the Current.

It gets louder as he approaches. The churned-up snow gets thicker, too, so much so he swims nearly blind, and he is grateful for it. Much harder to back away from a threat he can hardly evaluate. He lets himself sink into it all, the roar of the current, the tickle of the flakes, the thick presence of them in the water, the lovely, bubbling warmth. They swirl around him, a pressurized swell of constancy, and drag him forward, swirling hands of promise, if chainbreakers, of swelling breaths of freedom. He churning current whips him around and he rides through it with all the bravery he can summon, loose somewhere in the expanse of his skull, churning identically to the water in the echo of his chest. He forces his tail to rest loosely, to ride along where the water takes him; swimming, he knows, is futile, fighting against the current useless. There is no force more powerful than the water, no pillar thicker or stronger than ice. The ocean will drive as she sees fit and Nico can only hope she finds him satisfactory enough, that she hears his silent begging, his endless longing. I want to see all I can, he whispers to her, eyes squeezed shut, teeth burrowing into his bottom lip, gills flaring. Please, even just a sponge-length into the open sea. Under the wide, sizzling sun.

It is only after an eternity in the brushing pound of the current that he is released. His skin almost aches with its absence, body reeling from the sudden loss of feeling; his ears, only, relish in the still-constant sound, if at all muffled. His head still spins as dizzy as the hermit crabs he and Hazel used to toss around, chasing after their warning claws and retreating legs. His hair billows in every direction.

Slowly, allowing himself to relish in the sensation, he blinks open his eyes. His fins are the first thing he sees, tangled as they are all around him, reaching far enough even for of them that the tip of it tickles his wrist. Some of his scales are missing, even, torn off in the power of the water, but he is almost pleased at the physical marker of this change. No matter what, pieces of him will have stayed in the Current. Even, perhaps, crossed the border entirely.

In looking under him he realizes the water is still churning — he has not, yet, made it entirely outside of the Current. Water roars in a wall behind him, circling around him in a giant, lengthy spiral. He hovers in the inside of the great churning river; hardly a sponge-length away from fully foreign waters. Once he crosses he has a few hours, at least, before his absence is noted; to swim around, to note, to gather. Or even simply to bask in the sun, swim up the the Surface and breathe air outside of what his father rules.

Smile spreading giddily across his face, he looks up, determined to find the weakest link of the Current wall and swim right through it.

And locks eyes with another mer, staring at him as if he’s a ghost.

#MER NICO MER NICO MER NICO #i have been obsessed w the antarctic ocean lately ISNT THIS SO SICK #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #ghost king #mermaid au #mermay #mermaid nico #solangelo #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #pjo hoo toa #my writing #fic #longpost

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occasionallyprosie · 4 months

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"Hiding Behind Plaster and Ceremics"

Chapter 1

Legend had one job the second time he was dragged on a quest that involved time travel and ancestors, and the second time a quest involved meeting other heroes: Don't get attached. Thankfully, the other heroes seemed to believe the mask he wore, and most of them didn't bother with him as a result except to argue, especially Twilight and Warriors. Now, if only someone could tell the kid behind the mask to stop reaching out to the brothers he lost after Hytopia, that would be great. And if they could stop the frigid downpour so Legend wouldn't get even sicker, that would also be great.

Febuwhump 2024 | Prompt 13: "You weren't supposed to get hurt"

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Read On AO3 Warnings: mild swearing

Legend knew the role he was playing.

His whole life was just one role after another, his main one of "the hero" constantly being reprised, but changing with each installment.

His first casting, he had been a terrified child, doing his best, trying to fulfill his uncle's last words. His second, he was an excited, bubbly child gaining two older brothers who shared separate yet similar pasts. His third was a kid with too big a heart and a burn to protect, giving everything he had including the clothes on his back to a dimension traveler who helped him in turn. His fourth and fifth was of a kid in a new land, wearing his heart on his sleeve, helping everyone he met even when it burned him. His sixth was the turning point for his role, he began it as the sweet kid and ended it heartbroken and begging to never feel such pain again.

His seventh was starring him as a broken teenager doing everything he could to fix things, to do the right thing and help people, without getting attached and heartbroken again.

Like any other tragedy, that teenager failed in the end and Ravio went back to Lorule, their worlds closing.

The next reprisal, lucky number eight, was of a slightly older teenager who was determined to get through this without opening his heart to a single soul, even if it hurt those around him.

So that's the role Legend played. He was the hoarder, but he coveted items and people were a danger to those belongings, he was the scholar, providing information to those who asked, who found solace in books and scrolls, and he was the veteran, tired and done with the lives they led.

The longer it went on, the harder it was for Legend to suppress that terrified child who just wanted to help out. The longer it went on, his mask was trying to crack from overuse.

It's a shame for that mask that he was a hoarder and always had something to hold it back together.

It was also a shame for the excited, bubbly child inside to watch as his older brothers failed to even recognize him with the mask he wore and the many new years he bore.

Legend recognized Ocean and Forest immediately, the moment his eyes landed on them, he knew who they were. Ocean hadn't changed much, but Forest was taller, bigger, more muscular and he had face tattoos interestingly enough.

He met their eyes and saw not a flicker of recognition appear in theirs, he supposed that was fair, he looked different and he had changed. He'd be surprised if they figured him out by anything but the fact he wore the same tunic.

They went weeks into this adventures, Legend doing whatever he thought helped him maintain that distance, strengthen that wall, that kept the other heroes out of reach of his internal child and kept his heart safe.

He couldn't do Ravio again, or, he supposed, this was more like Raven all over again. He refused to do that again.

But that child really wanted out, it was begging to be released, to call out to the two heroes he once called brothers.

No, Legend reminded himself. They don’t even remember us.

So he shut up and kept to his corner, he stitched and bandaged his own wounds and snarled at anyone who dared to approach. Especially the ones who he knew he would trust easier--the Sailor, the Rancher, the Traveler, and the Skyloftian.

Legend was sick. He knew he was and he blamed that cold storm they'd got caught in not two days ago for it. When they'd made camp, most of them bundled by the fire but Legend had stuffed himself away out of stubbornness and pride, using his fire rod for heat and wrapping an extra blanket around his soaked self.

He wasn't surprised by the turn of events, but he wasn't certain how to approach it.

Clearly, as they walked and he focused hard on keeping steady steps and maintaining pace with the others that he'd missed the entirety of Wind's story, he wasn't great. He usually listened, even if he feigned otherwise, it was a good distraction and he liked stories. It was the only thing he granted to himself, listening to Ocean ramble on about events he'd already heard the stories of. Now he was struggling and normally he would've stayed in the cave from the other day or even backtracked to it to rest and maintain a safe space, but that wasn't much of an option.

The cold of Warriors' Hebra region was piercing, and darkened clouds still rolled overhead but didn't open for much more than a sprinkle. Though humid, all the humidity did was prevent their clothes from drying, it didn't further soak them. Frankly he preferred the cold storm over a blistering, tropical hot storm.

But goddesses, he needed to take a break or he'd pass out and he didn't know how to say that. His mask was cracking, he knew it, and he was running out of energy to fix it while also trying not to stumble and fall in the mud.

To his luck, Sky called for a break, explaining the wet air was getting to his high altitude lungs. Legend didn't bother trying to understand that, which was rather telling. Instead he followed to the side they'd went to and tucked himself under a tree, letting his eyes shut and block out the painful, headache-inducing light.

Too soon, someone called to him.

"Hey Hoarder, get off your ass and let's go," Warriors snapped at him.

Legend dragged up his energy to shoot a glare at the knight. "You'd know all about sitting back on your ass, wouldn't you, soldier boy?" He snarled, pushing off the tree. The rest was helpful, but not sufficient. He really hoped he wasn't assigned a watch tonight, he wouldn't stay awake.

"One of these days, you’re going to get what's coming to you and that goddess-awful attitude," Warriors warned him.

Legend rolled his eyes. "Whatever comes for me for "this attitude" is going to get the exact same treatment as everything else that has come for me. A sword through its heart."

"Oh right, how could I forget, the Hoarder just kills everything that comes near him," Warriors spat.

Twilight got between them, shoving his way in and accidentally helping Legend hide the flinch that broke through from Warriors' words.

"Alrigh', that's enough. We have a lot of ground to cover and not enough patience to deal with you two."

Legend scoffed and he trudged off after the others who had already began to leave them, probably at Twilight's suggestion and Time's agreement. His boots threatened to get stuck in the mud and he feared his dwindling strength would have him unable to pull them from the sucking sludge, but he had the strength for now.

He heard Twilight mutter to Warriors. "Look, yer not wrong, the Scholar's f'r sure quick t'fight an' his whole personality leaves much to be desired, but none of us wanna listen t'ya two hurlin' insults no matter how much truth is with them."

Warriors groaned lowly. "You better not even try to lecture me, Rancher. I won't start a fight, but I'm not going to just take it."

Twilight backed off, surprisingly. Those two were at each other's throats just as often as Legend was with either of them.

The bubbly kid held back a sob hearing Twilight's--Forest's-- words. Legend trudged through the mud and plastered over the crack in his mask.

He wouldn't let them see how much that hurt.

He didn't kill everyone who came near him, he thought to himself pleadingly. Then names flickered through his mind and the plaster cracked too.

He was too exhausted from the growing fever to actually try and fix it back, it began to pour again and he had to keep moving.

Keep going, Link. He told himself. Keep going, then when they finally say stop we can rest. It'll be fine, just hold out a little while longer... please.

They couldn't make camp early enough. Hyrule found a cave again and Legend went as deep as he could until Time told him to not go that far. He came a bit closer and rolled out his bedroll.

He tucked his two fire rods in the blankets, then promptly collapsed, ignoring the others set up their camp.

He never usually helped, helping meant interacting and interacting risked attachment.

He wouldn't risk getting attached. He just had to hope the heat of the fire rods and the blankets would burn out his growing fever before dawn. With their chatter, they didn't seem to hear him down a health potion before passing out without dinner.

Dawn came and he felt no better, but he wasn't worse. It took way too much energy to get up when he heard the others rousing, it took too much focus to realize the sounds he heard was the others rousing.

He dragged himself to his feet, packed his things away and pulled on his mud covered boots. Nobody bothered him aside waiting at the entrance until they were all gathered, him included, to leave. Sky, as usual, greeted him with a good morning and Hyrule tried to fall into step with him, but a glare and a snap had the other hero retreating to Wild reluctantly.

It was raining the moment they left and continued to rain throughout the whole time.

He wasn't the only one slipping and stumbling through the mud, Four was struggling bad, as was Wind and Sky. Wild seemed to stumble but had a certain step of understanding, like he'd had to do this before, and Hyrule was similar though struggling far more. The three tall heroes, Time, Twilight, and Warriors, still slipped a bit but the knee deep mud for Legend was only halfway up their shins.

He lost his battle with the sickness and he nearly fell, barely catching himself and kneeling.

Distantly, he was aware of someone calling for him to keep moving over the roar of the heavy downpour.

He couldn't stand. His vision was bad and his body was trying to give out. He couldn't stand. He couldn't hardly move.

Come on, Link. Just a couple more hours, you've made it through worse!

Except the worse was fighting Ganon with an infection blossoming. Except the worse had adrenaline pumping through his veins and Raven at his side to help out. Except right now, one step took as much energy as a whole spin attack back then.

He had to stop. He had to breathe--

A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, but it tightened before he could fall back.

"Hoarder. Get up," Warriors ordered and it sounded like he was underwater. "There's no way with how much you slept you’re this tired, even the Skyloftian and the Sailor are handling."

Legend wheezed softly. He knew that. He knew he had to stand.

His body wouldn't cooperate, but he managed to smack Warriors' hand away and push against his knees to painstakingly stand.

The blur of green moved away, Warriors going on ahead. He tried to drag a foot ahead again but collapsed again. This time falling face first into the mud was a near thing, only barely avoiding such a fate.

Stand, damnit! He wanted to cry. He couldn't get his body to move, he couldn't find safety. This was why he took sanctuary whenever he got sick, so he wouldn't be a sitting duck.

He hated this. He hated it all. He hated them, those damned heroes, their stupid, stupid idea of correct and good. He hated everyone who left him, everyone who'd abandoned him. He hated himself for being so damned soft and attaching himself way too easily to others.

It wasn't supposed to hurt. Loving people wasn't supposed to hurt. He wasn't supposed to get hurt for caring.

Yet here he was, close to tears because he couldn't stand. Because he couldn't admit to weakness, because being weak meant needing help, and needing help meant letting people come close.

And he was too soft, to quick to care, to let anyone come close and not get attached. He couldn't get attached again, he couldn't lose someone again.

He glanced up briefly, just enough to know none of the blurs were approaching and were in fact moving away. He shakily took out a green potion, took way too long to uncap it and drink some, and used the forced energy to stand again and keep moving.

He'd never had to drink a green potion to keep moving before, but as it turned out, this whole quest was just a mess of "do this" so they wouldn't notice him, so they wouldn't get close, so he wouldn't get attached.

Goddesses, being alone wasn't supposed to hurt.

Legend genuinely didn't know how he made it through that day, but what he did know was that he wasn't getting up from where he had collapsed in the wet cave they'd once again made camp within.

He pressed his burning head against the cold stone and just let out a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut and staying shut. He had made it to the back of the cave again and Time hadn't yet made him move closer.

He just needed to rest. He had to rest. His whole body ached, his insides twisted, and nausea rolled in his stomach and wound around his throat. He could hardly inhale through his mouth without wanting to throw up, but he couldn't breathe through his nose either, so this was what he had to deal with. He didn't even try with getting out a blanket or his fire rods for some heat, just curled up and hoped to the goddesses it passed tonight because he wasn't getting up until it was.

He slipped asleep quickly, but was startled back awake.

A haze settled over his mind but that didn't prevent the world from shaking and then someone grabbing him, or maybe it was the other way around and the grabbing shook him? He didn't know.

All he knew was that the light of the fire was gone, his body hurt, and he had been tackled or something by someone.

There was talking--no, yelling but he couldn't bring himself to actually process the words.

He just blinked dazedly up at the darkness and the barely-visible silhouette above him, they were shaking him. His brain rattled in his skull and the shaking grew painful fast.

"--t! Link! Come on, wake up--"

He whimpered. "St'p... 'urts."

"Oh. Link, hey--" cool hands brushed his face and he inhaled sharply, only to exhale softly. The coolness pulled away fast and he whined at the loss. "Oh Ordona, yer burning up."

The cool hand returned and he managed to lean into it.

"Sweet Ordona, Link, how long have you been sick?" They said, and the sound echoed almost painfully. He tried to curl back up into the ball he had been in before he'd been disturbed.

He slipped back asleep, finally just resting, finally letting the exhaustion take hold.

They'd made camp in a cave again, and Twilight was a bit relieved by that. He was tired of the rain and mud, the hard rock walls was a boon.

They'd made a fire, Wild was just beginning to start it when the ground trembled.

"The ceiling's caving in!" Four yelped, his eyes flashing purple. How he knew that, Twilight really didn't need to know nor did he care to.

They all moved fast, but Twilight spotted Legend still unmoving and curled up deeper into the cave.

"COLLECTOR MOVE!" Hyrule screamed, clearly having seen the same.

The cave ceiling began to break. Twilight ran and he managed to pull Legend deeper into the cave as the ceiling in the area they'd begun camp in collapsed.

Thankfully, the cave in ended far enough back that Twilight got them far enough away. He just had to hope the others got out on the other side.

To his absolute surprise, Legend had barely startled at the tackle and was currently limp beside him. Twilight's night vision was improved due to being attuned to his wolf form, but it was not perfect.

Legend's eyes fluttered open part way, half lidded and looking dazedly.

"Collector?" Twilight prompted, hoping the other hero didn't have a concussion. "Collector!" He called again when he didn't even respond, shaking his shoulder. "Link! Come on, wake up--"

A whimper, an actual whimper escaped the other hero and Twilight faltered as he heard the quiet plea for it to stop, that it hurt.

"Oh. Link, hey--" Twilight tried to move his bangs to check his eyes, to look for a concussion, but the skin he felt was far too hot for the frigid caves and storms they've been in for the past three days. He'd jerked away from the unexpected heat on instinct before it set in what was going on.

Suddenly it made sense, how quiet Legend had been the past couple days, the way he had struggled to keep up and stand. Twilight had taken it as just having a restless night and being tired, he'd clearly been exhausted the other day with how quickly he'd gone to sleep and he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been caught unable to fully rest with how soaking wet and cold it had been. However this just... Why didn't he expect someone to get sick with how cold and wet it's been?

"Oh Ordona, yer burning up," he breathed. He placed his hand on Legend's forehead and the collector leaned into it. "Sweet Ordona, Link, how long have you been sick?"

He watched Legend's eyes slip shut and then not open. He'd passed out, oh that was not good.

Twilight tug the smaller hero closer and picked him up. He... He never realized how small Legend was until he had the Scholar curled up in his arms, shaking like a leaf and whimpering.

He delved deeper into the cave, hoping for an escape or at least for the cave to get warmer.

Light Spirits, was he so blind by his own judgment and dislike of a person as to not notice them get so sick they had struggled to stand?

He didn't find an exit but did find an underground river but a dry shore, probably a lot higher of a shore than it normally was considering the amount of rainfall. He managed to set out enough blankets, decently dry, that he thought he could bundle the collector up.

Muttering an apology, he stripped Legend of his soaked clothes, leaving his shorts, and wrapped him tight in four dry blankets. He did take the time to try and clean both their boots of mud, but was careful with Legend's precious Pegasus boots, he knew the Hoarder would kill him if he messed any of his items up.

Then he settled on the dry rock, Legend's bundled form in his arms as he tried to provide what heat he could to lessen the amount of shivering the other hero was doing.

He let himself fall asleep at some point, only to wake up a few hours later with an inkling of light above.

He looked up and there turned out to be an opening in the ceiling, rainwater a steady trickle into the cavern. From what he could tell, he could probably hookshot out, but definitely not with Legend.

So he waited.

Legend was remarkably warmer but he woke up, with the light Twilight could actually see his glassy red eyes fill with confusion.

"Where..."

"It's alright," he murmured on instinct, if Legend was more coherent he probably would've been hit. But as it stood, he had someone small and sick in his arms so he acted instinctively, pulling them closer and promising safety. "It'll be alright, just rest, kid. I got you."

Legend twisted a bit, dazed and distant eyes settling on his face. He frowned, and Twilight was struck by how much younger Legend looked when he wasn't glaring and snarling at anyone who neared like an injured animal.

"Oh..." he muttered and he went limp again, curling willingly into Twilight's chest. "It 'urts," he mumbled and Twilight felt his heart constrict.

"I know," he promised. How sick was he? Why didn't he say anything? Was it out of pride? "It'll be alright."

"Where's Ocea'?" The hero in his arms asked and Twilight froze.

Oh goddesses no.

"Apple?" Twilight croaked.

"Mm... yea?"

No, no, no.

"F'rest?" he called, voice weak, and Twilight struggled to breathe out a response.

Legend hummed. "M...M'kay."

No. Twilight felt his blood run cold, his heart beat too fast and too hard, because suddenly everything went extremely wrong. Legend --the group's Collector and Scholar, the harsh, rude, snappy, violent one who had nearly bit Hyrule's head off only that morning-- was Apple, the kid that had broken his leg in Hytopia after slipping off a roof that he'd climbed on a whim. The nine year old kid who sang songs, hummed tunes, who fooled around while Twilight and a younger Wind who they nicknamed "Ocean" did the walking. The same kid who earned his keep and, when given the chance by the two older heroes, absolutely slaughtered any monster in his path so long as he had a blade and a magic rod in his hands.

Legend, the distant, snarling, cold, bully of a hero... was his sweet little brother. Legend was the same kid that had asked Lady Maud nicely to not make Styla wear clothes she didn't like, because he said it was mean to make people do things they didn't like even if someone else was doing something to you that you didn't like. That kid was Legend?

For a moment, Twilight couldn't believe it. There was no way that Legend could be Apple.

Then, he looked at the hero in his arms and the fact he had to be at least ten years older had probably embarked on a third quest after Hytopia...

Twilight's own quest changed him for the better, he'd been a prideful brat of a teenager and became... well he wasn't sure, but he hoped he was a better person now. So who was to say Legend's didn't turn him from a bright kid to a violent and harsh man.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt," Twilight croaked. "You were supposed to go home and be happy."

Legend didn't respond, after all, the collector was out cold. He couldn't give Twilight any explanation for why he was so jaded and... and so angry, why he was so harsh.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt," Twilight repeated weakly, because that sweet, bright little kid was supposed to go home to that aunt he spoke the world of and be happy, not go on another adventure or whatever had happened that turned him into this... broken, cold, harsh hero.

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