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adrift-in-thyme · 8 months

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Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now”

Read it on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: an injured Link shows up at Lon Lon Ranch

CW for blood and injury, mentions of death and broken bones

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Malon’s hands never shake.

She can’t afford for them to. Sure, there are times when they are a bit unsteady from exhaustion or stress. Sure, there are things that scare her enough to make them trembling a possibility. But in her world, when things get hairy there is only action and no time for anything else.

Now is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Her hands don’t tremble, even as blood oozes over them. Her thoughts don’t falter. No tears fall.

But they want to. Oh, they want to. Because this time feels so very different. She has dealt with wounded animals before and even wounded people (she will never forget the time Ingo got kicked in the leg by Epona; satisfying though it may have been after the man’s behavior, setting that bone wasn’t exactly what she would call enjoyable). Never before, however, has she held the broken body of someone she cares for quite so much.

“You’re an idiot, fairy boy,” she breathes as she presses another cloth to the gash running across her friend’s middle.

“‘m your idiot, though,” he mumbles back. Even now there is characteristic mischief peeking out from behind the exhaustion and pain straining his tone.

Malon rolls her eyes.

Link has been bleeding all over her nice, clean floors and furniture for at least five minutes now. And that’s after he rode in, slumped over Epona’s back, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other clutching the horse’s reins like a lifeline.

He had come because he had nowhere else to go, he had said when she had stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide and heart in her throat. Because he could think of nowhere else that would be safe. Where he would be accepted without hesitation.

And as she had helped him down from the saddle, as he had practically collapsed onto her arms, he had apologized. Assured her he would take care of the wound himself, if only she would provide him a place to stay. As though he were a stranger in her home and not her best friend.

“Oh, shush,” she had scolded, ushering him into the house and lowering him onto the nearest chair. “I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down.”

And meekly, he had obeyed.

Now, he watches her with a slightly dazed look, as she tries to save his life.

For that is what she is doing, really. If she doesn’t get this wound to stop bleeding soon, he’ll bleed out.

As it is, she’s afraid he won’t last the night.

She worries her bottom lip and reaches behind her for the bandages lying on the table.

“Care to tell me how this happened?” The sharp bite of fear is in her tone despite her attempts to restrain it.

And really, who cares at this point, anyway? Her fairy boy is hurt, badly. She’s allowed to be a little worried.

Link drags in an unsteady breath.

“Monster fight.”

“The usual, then.” She shakes her head, sighing. “What I wanna know is what kinda monster fight was it that got you this hurt? I don’t think you’ve ever come around looking like this before.”

Link blinks, long and slow. The blue of his eyes seems unnaturally bright. Maybe because of the light, maybe because of pain. Malon thinks it’s likely both. But it almost reminds her of that little fairy that used to follow him around.

“Did you go into a dungeon or somethin’?”

Her gaze is back on her work, now, as she ties the bandages as tightly as possible. But when he speaks she can hear something almost like guilt in his voice.

“I—” A sharp hiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Malon murmurs an apology, trying to ignore the way the sound is like a dagger to her heart. “I was looking for…for something.”

“Lookin’ for something huh?”

She ties off the gauzy strips of fabric now practically holding the man together and takes a moment to survey her work.

That should hold.

Now, to get that bleeding firmly under control before he passes out…or worse. She grasps the bottle of potion that she had snatched from the cupboard earlier. It’s always handy, she has found, for times when the healing power of Lon Lon milk isn’t quite up to par. Times like now.

“That had better have been one important treasure. Did you get it at least?”

A small smile lifts Link’s lips. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look any more alive. He’s too pale, too ashen. There’s too much blood, coating his tunic, coating his hands and dribbling down from his mouth and nose.

But at least he has the strength to smile. Malon is willing to appreciate small miracles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Something in the way he says it makes her slightly suspicious. But she hardly has time to figure out why. She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth, quickly so as not to take in just how stark the crimson looks against the white. Then, she uncorks the potion bottle and gets to her feet.

Link moves trembling, crimson drenched fingers toward the bottle. But she shakes her head.

“Uh-uh. You’re weak. Let me.”

With one careful hand, she tips his chin up and holds the bottle to his lips with the other. He swallows its contents obediently.

“That should help,” she says, once he’s finished. She turns away, setting the bottle back on the table. “At the very least you won’t be bleeding everywhere anymore.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He sounds a bit stronger already, she thinks. But maybe she’s just fooling herself to distract from the worry currently chewing a hole in her gut.

“Anytime, fairy boy.”

Malon inspects the wound one more time, reassuring herself that it’s no longer in danger of bleeding through the bandages. Thankfully, the potion already seems to be doing its job. The bandages remain a clean, cottony white.

“Looks like you’re out of the danger zone,” she says with a sigh of relief. “But you’re gonna need some rest and a new set of clothes.”

She looks over him once more, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to tend to those other wounds of yours too. I swear, you look like you let the horses trample you.”

There is a distinct twinkle in his eye now. Already, he is beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Ah, it’s a…a good look then. A seasoned adventurer kind of look.”

Her lips quirk up even as she glares at him.

“No. It’s not a good look. I thought that much was implied. And it’s the kind that gives me a heart attack.”

He grins. But it quickly turns into a grimace as she sets about cleaning a cut along his neck. Gently, she tilts her head to get a better look at it.

“Stay still, now, and let me work.”

He mumbles a tired-sounding reply. His eyes are beginning to drift closed, despite his efforts to keep them open. And as she tackles each injury, he grows closer and closer toward losing his grip on consciousness completely. But the time he is cleaned up and she has managed to help him fumble into one of Talon’s spare tunics he is practically asleep.

“There,” she murmurs, setting aside the bowl of water and multiple cloths that she had used. They tinge the water pink. “Feelin a little better now?”

She knows that she is. The terror of earlier has abated somewhat, every steady breath, every beat of his heart convincing her that the danger is gone. At least, for now.

For now, her fairy boy is safe. For now, her hands don’t shake.

He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Yeah?”

“I…I think I’m in love with you.” He frowns, thought obviously a difficult task at the moment. “No…know I am.”

Malon stops short, edges of the blanket still clutched in her suddenly shaky hands. A short bark of laughter escapes, a bit louder than she means it to be.

“I think you’ve lost a little bit too much blood.”

“‘m fine,” he retorts, scowling. “Malon ‘m serious. I love you.”

Shaking her head, she tucks the blanket up around his chin and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, fairy boy. It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can pick up this conversation in the morning.”

His scowl becomes decidedly pouty, though he has little choice but to comply. His eyes slip closed, breath beginning to even out.

By the time, Malon has cleaned up the gory mess (she never wants to see this much blood again, especially not from him), and put away her tools, he is long gone. She allows herself a moment to gaze at him, slumbering peacefully, face illuminated by the flickering flames. He is less pale now and with the blood gone he looks more human. Younger, more like himself.

Reaching out, she rubs her thumb on his cheek, a smile playing on her lips.

“I love you too, Link.”

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

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In a turn of events surprising exactly no one among the group, it's Dustin's who starts the whole thing. He calls a formal party meeting, and an hour after the message goes out over the walkie Steve has a living room full of anxious freshman and Eddie Munson -- and him and Robin who are mostly there because the meeting had to be held at Steve's house for some reason.

Dustin's sense of dramatics have come to rival Eddie's, and he waits until they're all seated before he even bothers coming out from where he hid himself with a manilla folder under one arm and the only white sheet in Steve's house, that had definitely come from off of his parent's bed, under the other. He doesn't say a word as he throws the sheet over the entertainment center and comes back again wheeling in an overhead projector. Steve can still faintly make out O'Donnell written on the side. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today," Dustin punctuated his sentence with the heavy click of the projector being switched on.

The fan doesn't drown out the screaming from the crowd.

"You made it sound like an emergency."

"How did you get that here?"

"How did you get it at all?"

"Please," Dustin interrupts, "save all questions for the end." From his manilla folder he slaps a pre-written laminate down on the light table. Projecting, enlarged for everyone to see, 'Why Lucien is secretly the big bad of the whole campaign: a presentation by Dustin Henderson."

"This is the lamest reason for petty theft ever." Eddie gripes. Clearly more upset than Henderson had actually figured the plot twist out, Steve remembers how proud of himself he'd been when he talked himself through it weeks ago.

"Did you help him do this?" Steve asks, afraid of the answer.

"Obviously not, why would I spoil my own-"

"The projector, Eddie."

"I mean barely, I was more of a getaway driver. Really, if she wanted to keep her projector she shouldn't have moved it out into the hallway so they could wax the floors. I didn't know he was going to use it for evil."

Henderson clears his throat, a disgusting phlegmy hem-hem, "If you're going to talk through the presentation, you'll be asked to leave."

The attitude on the kid, really.

It becomes a thing after that. Steve already has the projector, it's not like he can bring it back to the highschool. What would he even say, 'Sorry about the confusion, my overhead projector looks just like this one.' When there's nothing good at Family Video to rent or it's raining too hard to use the pool, they'll all go to different corners of the house with a stack of ten laminate sheets, a wet erase marker, and a vague theme. Then they come back and share what they've come up with.

The group is incapable of not instigating some kind of competition, at the end of the night they'd fight and argue over whose presentation was best. Steve participated half the time, but more often than not let himself be talked into playing referee to make sure no one's feelings got too hurt. On those nights he'd add onto Robin's. His favorite: why star trek is better than star wars (with footnotes from Steve)

It's at least twice as gay, kirk and spock are basically alien married and uhura definitely had a thing for spock's wife. All star wars has is the robots and they're barely main characters.

Steve note: Spock's half-vulcan status can be looked at the same as being bi or genderqueer, not feeling like you belong right in either half of your identity cause you aren't enough of one or the other -- Luke is just a twink with a nice wardrobe.

The Party could argue about anything, but Steve wasn't exactly surprised when the young adults got in on the fun too. The projector didn't usually come out until they were all drunk or stoned enough to admit that they had been waiting all night to make their presentations. Unlike the kids who mostly treat the games like debate team: who's the most powerful fictional character, what's the best PC class, what character from star wars would survive the Upside Down (he thought Erica's presentation: why the my little ponies could take down tiamat but wouldn't because they're too civilized, was especially inspired). The older teens treated it more like an amped up game of truth or dare, making up things that someone else in the group should have to do and encouraging the rest of the group to join in too.

They started the night off with Argyle's "Why Steve should give me his secret brownie recipe" which turned out to be mostly about how good they would taste as weed brownies and Eddie and Jon were quick to join his side.

They go around like that advocating for bad decisions like consequences don't exist, like they could be kids again. Robin thinks they should get tattoos, Steve is easily swayed. Jon proposes a road trip back to California. Nancy says they should all move to Boston with her. Eddie thinks the core four should start a band. Steve waits for his turn.

Steve has had his pages written and waiting for days. He knows exactly how long it takes his friends every time they meet to get wasted enough to give in to the temptation to wheel out his contraband projector. Once Robin is finished shouting at Eddie about how they're the only ones with any musical gifts he takes his turn.

"Why Eddie Munson should go out with me: a presentation by Steve Harrington."

#steddie #at the end but it was the foundation on which the rest of this was built #stranger things #stranger things fic #my fic #i saw a picture of one of the old overhead projectors and had a visceral flashback to my school years #they were being phased out but my 8th grade math teacher insisted on keeping his til he retired #honestly superior to the smart board #core memory drawing on the one in my moms classroom as a kid #hands stained by wet erase expo markers #anyway if theres a will theres a way and the party would eat up those ppt presentation nights

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