Work Text:
("Watch out!"
Mask's seldom-heard voice is enough to startle Link upright. He twists around, away from the soldier's body, bloody hand reaching for his sword in one quick motion and -
A spurt of blood. An arrow, meant for Link, embeds into Mask's leg, and the kid topples.
"Mask!" Proxi flitters by his ears nervously, torn between staying by Link and flying to the now-injured child. "Link, assassins!"
Go to Mask, he signs shortly with his free hand. He gets to his feet, head dark with fury and guilt. I'll deal. Close off.
"Close off the area," Proxi relays to the surrounding soldiers, bless her, before disappearing in a sparkle of light in Mask's direction. The men surrounding him scramble to do so, shouting orders as pandemonium erupts across the outer courtyard of the Castle.
He glances at Mask, who's still on the floor and staring at him with big eyes. One small hand, too small, is gripping the shaft of the arrow as if to pull it out.
Don't, he signs, quick and short, I'll be back. Don't move.
Mask's eyes glimmer with indignation. Link must look awfully ruffled, though, because he acquiesces without argument.
It's not that the kid doesn't know how to deal with an arrow - he knows a million things he shouldn't, a million things no child should know, and that absolutely includes how to deal with an arrow. And Link knows that. It's just that - he doesn't want to let him deal with this stuff alone. Anymore, at least.
Impa's on the man by the time he manages to scramble up the parapets. She doesn't step to the side when Link arrives, but seems unsurprised when Link grabs him by the collar and slams him back into the ground. The man writhes underneath him, and Impa stands.
"I'm not gonna - goddamn - fuckin' tell you shit," the man spits. "Insane fucking - woman-!"
"Wrong person," Link growls, digging his knee into the man's spine. "How many of you are there."
A pause in the writhing. Then, a low, unsettling chuckle, and Link can feel the man's demeanor changing underneath him. "Is that the Captain I hear?"
"How. Many."
"Hundreds," the man says. "Everywhere you look, Captain, there are men that want your head."
"Who do you work for."
"Ourselves."
"What's your goal."
"You killed our families, Captain," he says, and Link's grip slackens momentarily. "You killed my daughter. She was a soldier, fought in the Crystal Caverns. She's dead because you didn't have the nerve to turn yourself in."
His throat dries up, the few words he'd managed disappearing from reach. He can hear Impa's yelling over the parapet, her eyes flickering between the ground and the two of them on the floor. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears.
"Nothing will bring her back," the man says. "I hope you felt the same pain I felt when your brother was shot."
A crunch, sharp and distinctive. Link stares, speechless, as the man's mouth begins to foam. Impa's next to him in moments, and he's pulled up to his feet; the assassin slumps to the ground.
Mask is a target, he signs, numb. I'm going to. His hands tremble with effort. Go to Mask.
"Dismissed," Impa says, and Link turns and moves for the stairwell.)
"Still got assassins after you, Captain?"
Warriors levels him with a dead look, expression pinched. "You weren't supposed to know that, you know."
"Yeah, well, you weren't very good at hiding it." Time watches, impassive, as Warriors inspects the arrow embedded in his upper arm, right where his armor ends. There's warm blood leaking down into his elbow, and the pain is sharp and… strange, in some kind of way. Time's fingers have begun feeling numb. Could be some kind of nerve damage. "No one gets accidentally maimed that often."
Warriors grumbles, tension lining his posture. "I thought I was doing a decent job. No one told me I'd have to take care of a kid during a war." Stepping back, he begins to unstrap his leather bracers in quick, efficient movements. "You feelin' okay?"
"Bit dizzy," Time admits. He opens and closes a hand into a fist, feeling the prickling feeling fade and grow again. "My hands feel weird."
"Hm." The leather is shoved into his mouth. He glares at Warriors, who's pulled a dagger out of his sleeve. "Bite down. This will hurt."
With a quick roll of his eyes, Time complies. Warriors moves closer, and - ow - cuts through the skin to make the injury larger. It does, indeed, hurt, and Time bites down to prevent himself from making noise.
"Breathe," Warriors instructs, and Time does; a long, drawn out inhale, and subsequent slow exhale. He repeats the process as the pain spikes again and again, Warriors carefully wriggling the arrowhead out of his arm. "You're fine. Breathe."
He squeezes his eyes shut. Almost out; he can, uncomfortably, feel the barbs of the arrow cutting against his skin, despite how careful the Captain is obviously being in its removal. He exhales through his nose again, and -
"There we go." Something's pressed against the injury, firm, and Time finally makes a pained sound as it digs almost into the wound. Warriors tugs the leather out of Time's mouth - with force, he'd been biting down hard - and presses a potion to his mouth. "Drink. Good job."
He drinks. Warriors busies himself with the wound, pulling his blood-stained scarf - his scarf, surely there was a better alternative- off the injury and replacing it with a roll of bandages he'd pulled out of his pouch. Time can feel the open wound splicing itself together rapidly as it's wrapped; in fact, he's uncomfortably aware of it.
"Done." Warriors shoots him a smile, although stress is still evident in his face. He ruffles Time's hair. "Not that bad, hm?"
"You really don't need to talk to me like I'm a child anymore, Captain," Time says, although the fondness in Warriors's eyes sends bolts of warmth through him. "I'm at least a decade your senior."
"Still my baby brother." Warriors kisses him swiftly, obnoxiously, on the forehead. He stifles the instinctive screech from his younger years, instead sending the younger man a glare and crossing his arms. "Think you can walk?"
"Of course."
It's strange, Time thinks. For Warriors, it's been a grand six years since the War of Eras begun; for himself, thirty-ish. Still, he can remember being in this situation clearly, even if the arrow is in a different spot - the same careful facade of calmness, the same thin layer of guilt that haunted the Captain. It had been just as prominent when the man had been seventeen as it was now. Only now, as a fully grown and matured adult, Time was far more aware of it.
He's helped to his feet, arm wrapped around Warriors's lithe frame for support. The armor certainly doesn't help, and the weight drags both of them down - in addition to how Time's limbs already feel heavy, they're not very efficient in moving. He can see Warriors shooting him concerned glances.
"You were a good brother," Time says. His tongue feels heavy. "It must have been hard."
"You were a little hellion," Warriors says agreeably, moving in front of Time. A cool gloved hand is pressed against his cheek. "Still dizzy?"
"I didn' really say it at the time," Time says, ignoring the question. "I didn't say much of anything."
Warriors is poking at his arm, where the injury had been. Time tips forwards.
"But you. Meant a lot to me." Further tipping. He's slouched against Warriors now. "Still do."
"Legend!" Warriors calls by his ear, but it sounds like it's underwater. "I need your power gloves!"
He slips, and then Time's bodily hauled into someone's strong embrace, despite being clearly taller than them. He blinks, met with piercing blue eyes that peer at him concernedly.
"Still a handful," Warriors says. "Love you too, Sprite. You're okay."
Time passes out.