Work Text:
Something Twilight is inherently familiar with is anger. It simmers in his gut, a hot burn that creeps up his lungs until it explodes like a supernova in his head. Being a passionate person doesn’t mean he experiences only the good emotions fiercely; sometimes everything just gets so loud that all he can do is breathe. Love lives side by side with hate, happiness right alongside sorrow. Twilight feels most everything, and one day he swears he might combust over the weight of it all— and all the things he’s shoved aside.
It blindsides him, sometimes, these heavy feelings. They sit on his chest and pin him down, and just getting up in the morning can feel like trying to move a mountain. Twilight finds that it’s not so hard to get lost in such things, the ground falling out from under his feet fast enough that he’s drowning before he knows it.
Anger is one of those emotions. It scares him— how easy it is to be consumed by it. How sometimes he can’t stop himself from doing so. How he lets himself do so. Everything goes vivid around him, blood running hot and fast in his veins and, well. Hands can move faster than thoughts in his experience.
He’s gotten better at controlling it, learning to breathe and pay attention instead of snapping. But it still gets the better of him, especially when there’s a sword in his hand and people to protect.
And with the acrid taste of infected blood in the air and inhuman noises from all around, when Wild lets out a choked scream from somewhere in the midst of bodies…Twilight admits he loses it a little.
He’s not entirely sure how the bokoblin in front of him loses its head, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. Heart pounding so loudly it makes his ears ring, Twilight shoves his way through the storm of monsters. They’d been ambushed in Wild’s Breach of Demise, an area he’d already forewarned them about being that it, quote-en-quote, “sucked moblin ass ”. When Twilight had seen the camps and swarms of monsters descending upon them, he’d decidedly agreed.
Now Wild is nowhere to be seen, and everything in Twilight falls to the heated roar of desperate anger in his chest.
Around him, every movement calls to the corner of his eye, searching even as he loses the ability to really think. His sword becomes filthier by the second as hisses and howls fill his ears. He slices off the leg of one that tries to climb on him, smashes the hilt of his sword into the face of another. Get to Wild, get to Wild, get to Wild is playing on repeat in his head, the only thing louder than the blood rushing in his ears.
A flash of blue in his peripherals— no, just Wars, squaring off against a moblin. Twilight’s stomach twists even as he rams a shoulder into a different era of bokoblin, throwing it a good few yards. He spots a ladder on a lookout just high enough that he should be able to see and sprints for it, barely using the rungs as he hauls himself to the platform.
It takes Twilight less than two seconds to spot him, and even less to return to the ground.
Wild is sprawled out at the edge of one of the mottled walls, under a low enough ledge that it shadowed him from afar. But not enough to hide the smear of bright red blood on the off-white stone, sliding down its face as evidence of Wild being thrown.
He isn’t moving.
Wild isn’t moving.
The next thing Twilight knows is pressing a black-blood stained hand against Wild’s neck, breaths coming fast and the usual snarls strangely quiet behind him. All that matters, though, is the slightly fast but there beat of Wild’s heart.
Everything in Twilight slumps, muscles relaxing and the sudden absence of anger making his chest feel cold. The surge of relief gives him a heady rush, and even though WIld is still very much out of it and blood stains his hairline and tunic, all Twilight cares about is that he’s alive.
Of course, as dangerous as unchecked anger can be in a battlefield, suddenly not having it is just as much as a pitfall.
Something slams into the side of his head, pain bursting inside his skull. Twilight is sent rolling, the world spinning around him so fast his vision blurs. He doesn’t have time to get on his feet before weight is on his chest and a second bout of pain sears through him. Black encroaches the corners of his eyes as he stares at the spear shaft that’s now sticking out of his shoulder. He tries to roll back to his feet, but bites off a cry as he not-so-gently finds the spear is driven solidly into the ground beneath him.
He’s pinned.
He’s pinned, and he watches through wavering vision as the leering, hulking thing that may or may not be a hinox heads straight for Wild. Wild, who is down and bleeding and not getting up in the foreseeable future.
“Cub,” Twilight croaks out without fully realising— not that it’ll do any good.
His hands find the spear shaft; one of them, anyway. The right one (it wasn’t his sword hand, thankfully) is not very keen on responding with a blade shoved through its shoulder. He grips the wood as best he can, digging his fingernails in as he does his damndest to break it off. Staying down is not an option right now.
The shaft splinters in his hand right as the monster enters his line of sight again. Twilight’s heart plummets viciously at the sight. The monster’s got one large hand wrapped around Wild’s ankle, dragging his limp form in bursts across the dirt and slowly into the fray beyond.
From his grounded vantage point, Twilight can see the slashes on Wild’s side and chest, leaking blood through the tears in his tunic. His head lolls to the side, arm thrown to the side as if reaching for Twilight. Twilight blinks and sees Dusk, collapsed on the cold stone floor of her own castle with crimson staining her dress and the matching shade on Twilight’s sword. He blinks again and it’s Wild once more, his mentee, his descendant, his cub.
Twilight snaps .
It comes back in snapshots. The broken-off spear in one hand, his sword in the other. Black blood spraying in his face, making him gag. His sword tearing through skin and muscle, shoulder blades under his feet, plunging both blades at once again and again and again —
A voice, sounding tinny and underwater. Twilight can only feel the squish of flesh under his feet, the weapons pressed into his hands. He becomes suddenly aware of his breathing, chest heaving and coming out in gasps. His hands are shaking and his head hurts and Hylia, he can’t think straight.
The voice comes again. It makes a sound that Twilight finds familiar, a bundle of constants and vowels.
A hand grabs his injured shoulder. He doesn’t think. Hands move faster than thoughts, anyway.
Another hand smacks the broken spear from his grip, but Twilight keeps moving anyway, fist smashing into what he thinks is the face with his vision going in and out like it is. When he goes to use his sword, he finds that it's gone, too.
Twilight starts to move forward again, but freezes in place as warm hands grasp at his face. They cup around his jaw, a thumb running over the mark he knows is under his eye, and there’s a different voice now.
He struggles to focus— fuck, his head hurts— and it’s only when he sees the wavering teal eyes that he manages to connect the dots.
“Link,” says the voice, and Twilight knows because he watches the lips move. “Breathe. ‘S over. You’re safe. ‘M alright, Twi, breathe.”
The voice triggers something in his head. Twilight can now feel the breeze on his face, his feet on the ground and, oh, he’s here. He’s here, with blood matting his pelt and Wild on his feet in front of him, hands on his face. He’s swaying, unsteady, blood drying on his face and soaking his tunic, but standing nonetheless.
“Wild,” he breathes, and everything piles back into place in his head with a rush that makes him stagger a little.
“Hi,” Wild mumbles, lips twitching.
Twilight immediately grabs him, heart pounding, shoving him to the ground gently and pulling Wild’s torn tunic away from his chest to try and get a look at the damage. Head wound, too, and probable concussion based on the way Wild’s eyes keep unfocusing. There’s two slashes on his side and one across half his chest, but no matter how many times Twilight double-checks, they stay the same depth: superficial.
“‘M alright,” Wild repeats. “Clocked in the… in the head with tha’ throw, maybe some cracked ribs, but swear– swear ‘m okay.”
Twilight glances over his shoulder, grimacing at the bloody mess that the maybe-hinox is now. He shoves the image away, reaching to angle Wild’s head slightly to try and get a look at the wound there. “You’s have’a concussion, I’d bet,”
“How much?” Wild snorts, swatting his hands away. “You should, uh. Check on the sky. On Sky.”
Twilight furrows his brow. ‘On Sky ’? Sky isn’t here, is he? Twilight’s pretty sure he saw him across the way in a monster camp. When he glances over— an action that makes his head spin, and damn maybe he’d better check his own head— he finds belatedly that the camp is demolished without a single monster in sight. The others seemed to have moved down the pass, but Twilight can hear the fight diminishing quickly.
A soft groan splits the air, and hey, Sky is only a few feet away, on the ground and blinking slowly. It takes Twilight a second to haul himself over there, the pain of being impaled through the shoulder deciding to make itself known again.
Twilight sees that the side of Sky’s face is an angry red, a hard hit that looks like it might swell in the next hour. Twilight is suddenly, viscerally aware of how his knuckles are aching and that Wild’s voice wasn’t the one that called out to him initially.
“Oh, goddesses,” Twilight says under his breath. Clumsily, he reaches out to poke Sky’s chest. “Sky?”
Sky squints at him for a second, then gives a lopsided smile. “Heya. Forgot how solid your punches are!”
“You knocked him out,” Wild supplies helpfully. “You didn’ notice I was aw- awake.”
Guilt makes Twilight’s insides twist, and he offers his usable hand to help Sky into a seated position. “Sky, I—”
“Don’t,” Sky shuts him down firmly and instantly, giving his hand a squeeze. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you without thinking. Especially since you were injured and I didn’t notice.”
“Still,” Twilight closes his eyes, fighting the thought that the ground looks very comfortable right about now. “I didn’t mean…”
“I know,” Sky says quietly, a tone that makes Twilight open his eyes and look at him. The Skyloftian’s smile has gone more sad, now, and something shines in the back of his gaze that Twilight didn’t expect to see: understanding.
Twilight knows he’s not the only hero that lives with anger nipping at his heels, but it always felt different to him. Nobody else seems to feel it as deeply as he does; like the rage is intertwined with his bones, something that grew up right alongside him. He supposes he might have more experience with it than others, given that he had lived with it for most of his childhood. He is his father’s son, after all.
He can’t help but question that notion now. And yet… yet it seems almost improbable, that understanding, but that expression of Sky’s lingers in his head long after it’s gone.
Twilight seeks him out afterwards, when the heroes had cleared out the pass and Hyrule had jumped him with a fond scowl, declaring him an idiot even as he was healing. The traveller had sent him off so he could get a look at Wild, and as much as he wanted to stay, Wild had shooed him off with a knowing look.
Even with the few hours past, Twilight still can’t get that Sky’s look out of his head.
He finds the sky-knight on the edge of camp, whittling tools laying still in his hands as he gazes off into the distance. Twilight smiles a little to himself; featherhead, as always. He sits down cross-legged next to him, reaching out to tap Sky’s wrist lightly to get his attention. “Heya, birdbrain.”
Sky doesn’t startle, just turns and offers him a smile. The right side of his lips falter with the purple-green bruise stretching across his face and jaw, and Twilight winces at the sight.
“I jus’ wanted ta—” he starts, guilt once again swirling in his gut. But just like last time, Sky doesn’t let him finish.
“I already said it was fine, Twi,” the Skyloftian reminds him, and the casual iron in his voice means Twilight’s not going to get far with his argument.
Twilight swallows, slumping over with a sigh. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to leave it alone, and Sky deserves an explanation anyway. “Alright, alright. I jus’ never… I ain’t be tryin’ to be comin’ up swingin’ an’ all. I… it,” he drops his gaze, fingers tapping out an invisible melody again and again on his thigh. “It gets in’ta my head. Hard to shake loose, an’ – an’ —”
“And sometimes you don’t want to,” Sky finishes softly. “Don’t want to let it go, I mean.”
Twilight nods, bringing up a single knee to press to his chest. It hit him, sometimes— how angry he’d gotten, how whatever situation it was probably didn’t actually garner that much anger itself. The shame of knowing he’d overreacted, whether with yelled words or fists, always managed to haunt him afterwards. And yet, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes Twilight simply didn’t give a shit, the darkness inside him preening with the rush of emotion and dragging him down with it.
That always left him with a different kind of guilt, heavy and choking, because he knew he hadn’t cared and probably still didn’t.
“What a hero I be,” Twilight scoffs quietly, chest tight. He becomes aware of the fact that he’s sitting next to the very first hero, Hylia’s Chosen, the paramount of the Hero’s Spirit— the hero who had witnessed firsthand just how vicious Twilight can be. It only serves to make him feel even shittier.
“Heroes are still human,” Sky says, as certain as Twilight’s ever heard him. Twilight jerks his head up to look at him. “You’re human. We get angry.”
“Can’t imagine you’s gettin’ angry,” Twilight mumbles.
And Sky laughs, an almost bark of a noise that sounds like it burst right out of him. Twilight stares at him as Sky brings a hand to his mouth to stifle it, never having heard that kind of sound from him before. Sky gives a shake of his head, eyes just as serious as they are ever gentle.
“Twilight,” Sky says, looking him straight in the face. “I was so angry . During my adventure and after it. I could hardly think straight on the worst days. So trust me when I say I fully disagree.”
Sky’s gaze drifts again, tracing the pattern of the mottled walls of the canyon. “Today brought back memories, actually. This canyon has the name of my worst enemy. Demise. It felt very uncoincidental that we got overrun by monsters from my era here.”
Twilight blinks at him, admittedly a bit taken aback. He knew Sky hadn’t fought Ganondorf; it was one of the first things he’d brought up because he had no clue who it was they were all going on about. But that’s the largest piece of information Twilight has on Sky’s adventure. As loving and open as Sky seems, Twilight knows he’s a master at redirection, keeping details about his adventure close to his chest. Twilight can’t blame him since he does the exact same.
“Just because you get angry doesn’t make you less of a hero,” Sky says matter-of-factly, smiling slightly at him. The words hit Twilight in the chest, and he stares down at his hands. Now that the words have been said, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like Sky will smile wider and say ‘just kidding’.
He doesn’t, though. Of course he doesn’t.
“It can make you stronger, even,” Sky adds on. “If you use it for the right purposes. I just found that, for myself, it became less insistent with healing. Easier to manage when wounds become scars.”
Sky leans over and nudges his shoulder against Twilight’s, expression so so gentle and believing and Twilight doesn’t think anyone’s looked at him like that in a long time. It was always that he was ‘too violent ’, ‘too quick to anger’ , ‘didn’t take the time to think’ . He doesn’t think anyone’s allowed him to be this version of himself and tell him he can use it for good.
“You’ll find that healing, too,” Sky tells him, and his tone brokers no argument. “And I’ll be right here when you do.”
Twilight's throat goes tight, and he stares at his brother, having not a single clue how to tell him what those words mean to him.
But if Sky’s bright smile is any indication, he doesn’t have to.