Chapter Text
Dedede snipped away at the thread after tying -- throwing, he remembers reading -- it into a knot thrice.
Onto the next one, and several more to come.
There was no way that Nightmare could have returned. Though he may not die, Kirby certainly did a number on the cruel sorcerer. It was far too soon for such a reappearance, right?
But hopes like that had never stopped Dark Matter. Why would anyone else be an exception?
Dedede was throwing his seventh stitch when Meta Knight’s hands fell limp. He swore, working in a frenzy to press his own clothing to the wound. He didn’t know if the knight was still even bleeding; he’d already lost so much, and most of it should have started to dry by now, sticking to his skin. But Dedede wasn’t taking any chances.
It was harrowing, to say the least. Not once in the years that he’d known Meta Knight did he ever see him pass out… or apologize, or -- Nova forbid -- cling to someone. That was the worst of it for Dedede. The desperation, the way he felt it in that man’s steel-plated fingers, how his eyes kept aimlessly searching for something. Anything to take away the pain wrecked upon his body, blinding him with agony as he poured himself vermilion.
Like a lost child whose never known comfort, or what it’s like to be held. It was raw, undisguised fear.
The king had mused that Meta Knight was the wind. Perhaps that freedom was all he really had. It was the kind of freedom that one is not given, but taken through blood, sweat, and tears. Dedede remembered a story he read years ago when he was still just a prince. It was a tale of a man who sought for freedom of his own volition, and drank it in too deep. He flew too high, so much that he burned and fell to his demise.
If truly, Meta Knight was the wind, and Dedede himself like the earth and sea that he collided with…
Fuck. He wished he had a steadier hand.
Something fluttered into his view, almost ethereal. It looked as though it had materialized from the light itself, perching itself upon Meta Knight’s collarbone. Mesmerizingly, the red butterfly cupped its wings and soaked in the sunlight refracting through the glass of the balcony door.
And sue him, King Dedede was a sucker for legends.
“You won’t have him,” he said as he pushed the needle through again. He lost count of the stitches he’d done somewhere after fifteen.
“You won’t have him,” he repeated like it was a mantra. “He’s not yours.”
You won’t have me; get out of me.
Get out of me!
Possession after possession… Perhaps it was a mantra after all, one the king knew by sullen, tattered heart. Yet he persisted, just as he believed Meta Knight would. Just as he prayed to Nova to answer his pleas at least once. If not to save him, then at least the bloodied man laying on his carpet, unmoving.
He cut the thread of the final stitch, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
The butterfly was gone, like it had never been there in the first place. Dedede rummaged through the first aid kit at his side, stretching out bandages to wrap the wound. Once Meta Knight seemed to have nothing but gauze for a torso, the king gazed at his hands.
Calloused. Smeared in drying crimson, and trembling.
For as long as he knew, he’d always made those around him look small. With time, he conditioned himself to be gentle when interacting with his subjects. That went for anyone on Popstar, unless they were a threat.
King Dedede was very good at destroying things, intentional or not. With age and combat training, it became child’s play. He wanted to protect his citizens, but sometimes it felt like he had to protect them from himself.
He could be gentle, and as careful as he could embody, but his hands were never made to heal. They left years of bruised knees when he played too rough, smashed vases when he couldn’t control a tantrum, and torn books when he struggled in studies… The only person who could hurt him the way he’d hurt others was his father. It was discipline, as he was told, and sometimes if he lingered on the memories long enough, Dedede could still feel the phantom of bejeweled hands striking the side of his head.
After his father had gone to war and only his ruined crown returned, the young, new king tried in vain to nurse his mother back to health. When she would sit at the foot of his bed and recite stories she’d heard in musicians’ tales hailing from afar. Slowly, the recognition left her eyes, but her love never did. She would speak fondly as though she were trying to preserve some part of him in her life, up until her mind grew too foggy, and her memories drifted away. She would weakly run her thumb over Dedede’s knuckles, calling him a sweet boy.
When he entered her chambers one morning and she didn’t wake, a part of him wished that she was as pitiless as his father had been. Deep down, however, he knew that he missed him too. It wouldn’t have changed the way his chest tightened with grief. Even then, hatred felt like an escape, as delusional as it became.
King Dedede blinked. He hadn’t changed after all. It was no wonder he became such an easy target for dark matter. His hands could not help anyone. His best attempt was for himself, leaving an ugly, jagged scar across his belly. And now, he couldn’t even tell if Meta Knight was still breathing. He couldn’t hear him. He just laid there, his head lolled back, body traced with the history of battle. Each scar was like a constellation on his dark skin. And the king had doomed this night sky with his destructive hands.
He’d tried so hard to hate him too.
Sir Meta Knight, who came to him as a mercenary with a dream. He was both troubled and trouble itself, yet honorable and noble. As hot-headed as Dedede, and fascinatingly mysterious. The king had never been more delighted than when he learned of the knight’s insatiable sweet tooth, as much as Meta had tried to conceal it. They hung out often, even when words were scarcely exchanged. They conquered evil together, keeping Dreamland safe from numerous threats…
Then came the star rod incident, and everything went downhill. And yet… Hatred had never claimed them, as much as they chased to be cradled by it.
He never actually hated Meta Knight. He was just angry with himself.
Something stirred in Dedede, and his body moved on its own. His mind scrambled, attempting to keep itself from the answer he was too scared to learn. But all too soon he found his ear pressed against the knight’s chest, searching. Listening with bated breath.
Please.
He stared at his reflection in the glass door. His eyes were manic with dread. Crashing waves, washing over him. Until… until he felt it. The pounding against a ribcage.
Shakily, he pressed a hand to his own heart. The rhythm in his fingers didn’t match the one in his ear. That was the sound of another living, breathing person in his room.
All at once, he was choking, his vision blurry as the weight in his heart was swept away. Meta was alive, and though his breathing was weak, Dedede had never heard a more beautiful sound.
The knight needed fresh clothes, and once he awoke, a good meal. The king imagined that was long overdue. He tossed the shirt Meta Knight had been wearing, partially for the fact that washing it was a lost cause at this point, and more importantly that Dedede had already cut through it for access to the injury.
Awkwardly, he removed anything else that didn’t invade the man’s privacy, and began to sort through his own wardrobe after washing his hands and gingerly carrying Meta Knight to the bed. He considered a few overhead tees, but decided a button-up would be most wise. He wasn’t going to risk moving the knight’s arms any more than necessary after the work he’d done.
His own clothes had seen better days, so he redressed behind a folding screen with hopes that Meta rested until after he was finished. Better yet, until he came back. King Dedede stepped into the hallway, carefully closing the door and beckoning one of the guards.
“‘Scuse me, could you pass along to get me a pitcher of water? I’m kinda parched.”
“Oh, of course, Great King! Right away!”
“Thanks, I ‘preciate it.”
The soldier scampered away as Dedede peered over the railing. The setting sun casted a swirl of colors across the sky, his kingdom basking in its glow. He could see townsfolk going about their business; they laughed, they made music. They closed up shops, hosted potlucks, and some were probably getting ready for bed already. The farmers tended to be up before sunrise, after all.
There were children playing in the square, running and giggling as they spun tops across the pavement. Dedede squinted, scanning to see if Kirby was anywhere within the group.
He wondered what kind of person he would be if the spring breeze hadn’t brought Kirby to his kingdom. Likely someone he would have despised now, that was for certain. It used to bother him, how powerful that child was, and not just in strength. They were a force to be reckoned with, for sure, but their true power came from something so unbelievably pure. Their love was unapologetic and unconditional. It persevered over any obstacle, and flowed as freely as the fountain of dreams.
Kirby was a miracle. But they were still a child, above all else. Not even they could hold the universe on their shoulders without help. That was part of why he put an end to their petty rivalry.
Dedede had tried so hard to hate them, as well. Though of course, he couldn’t lie to himself forever. His heart was sick of it, and deep down he always did have a soft spot for children.
“Here you are, your majesty! Please enjoy!”
The king jerked, back in the present. Two waddle dees held a tray containing a large pitcher with three glasses stacked next to an assortment of lemon slices and packets of what looked to be either sugar or salt. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Y’all spoil me rotten! Thank you kindly.”
One of the waddle dees blushed as the king scooped up the tray with one hand. They went on their way, and Dedede nearly jumped out of his skin when he reopened the chamber door. Quickly, he shut himself inside and glared at the figure sitting upright upon the bed.
“You scared the shit outta me, Meta. What if I had walked in and the waddle dees saw you?”
The knight looked down at himself, inspecting his lack of pants and the barely buttoned shirt that seemed to swallow him whole.
“…I imagine rumors would spread at such a sight.”
Dedede sputtered and set the tray down before it could slip from his grasp. He heard Meta Knight quietly chuckle behind him, making his face feel like it could set fire to anything that dared to touch it.
“It’s very red,” the knight observed.
Dedede grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…”
“The shirt, your majesty?”
“Huh? Oh. I mean, yeah. It reminded me of the cape you wore when you first started working for me.”
Meta Knight hummed thoughtfully as Dedede filled two glasses with water. He opened a sugar packet and added just a touch to one of the glasses before handing it to Meta.
“Here, you need to hydrate. I can order some food to be brought up, too.”
“…Thank you. I don’t want to eat right now, though.”
King Dedede sat himself next to Meta Knight, downing half of his water in one take.
“I understand, but you gotta eat something soon. Even if it’s small.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping and thinking. Dedede sighed.
“You really did scare me. Y’know that?”
“I do. I’m sorry.”
When the king turned to face the other man, Meta Knight was already looking at him. Even beneath the mask, he looked so tired.
“How long have you been back in Popstar?”
“Not long,” Meta soughed. “I just got back, actually… you were my first stop, as you can imagine.”
The knight finished his drink, standing to stretch slightly. He made a pained noise, quiet as it was, and grumbled as he began to unwrap the gauze across his abdomen. Dedede blanched.
“What are you doing? I just put those on!”
“I want to see,” Meta Knight said, slowly making his way to the bathroom door. The king followed him, complaining that he’ll get an infection. He watched as Meta studied himself in the mirror. With the shirt fully unbuttoned, he was able to see the wound in its entirety.
He seemed to take a deep, shaky breath. “That’s… worse than I thought it was.”
The knight covered himself and turned to Dedede.
“I put you through a lot of labor. I’m… you have my gratitude.”
“It’s no big deal or nothin’,” Dedede muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It is to me.”
Meta Knight stared distantly, his mind somewhere else while his eyes dug their way through the tiles of the floor. It was possibly the worst wound he’d ever gotten in his life; he knew this even before seeing it in the reflection. Meta leaned back against the sink, hands gripping the edge. Any words that came to Dedede’s mind vanished when he tried to voice them. What exactly was there for him to say? That it was his pleasure to help him?
For a moment, he’d truly believed that Meta Knight died in his arms.
Images of a worst case scenario flashed in his mind. What would have happened if he really did die then? So many words left unsaid, conversations and closure that neither would ever have, and it would have taken a shovel to finally acknowledge how empty the skies would look. How shapeless the wind would feel. Dedede’s face twisted, and he held his head in one of his hands, sighing heavily. He really needed to sit down.
“You’re missing an earring,” the knight said.
Oh, that’s right. He slid his hand down his face and scanned the room.
“Yeah, it… I was about to put the other one in before you arrived. I dropped it somewhere when I heard you hit the door, and it disappeared.”
Meta’s brow furrowed. He seemed to shrink into himself slightly. Did he feel guilty?
“It’s not a pair that I have a lotta attachment to, so don’t stress about it. I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.”
That didn’t seem to help. The air around them felt tight, like they were being suffocated in each other’s presence. Dedede tried to relax, shifting his weight and resting against the door frame.
“Where is my armor?”
“I put it all next to my dresser. I promise I was careful with each part, but… whatever you got yourself into sure messed up a lot of it.”
“That’s fine,” Meta said. “What of my sword?”
“Next to the armor pile. I also had to trash your undershirt, by the way. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be… how were you able to take hold of Galaxia?”
“I didn’t, mostly just slid’er over using your belt.”
“I see.”
Dedede chewed at his bottom lip. He had so many questions to ask, but they had to wait. He didn’t know if he was ready for that conversation yet anyway. But, like this… it felt like if he breathed wrong, the whole room would fall apart. They were both exhausted.
“It’s getting late,” the king said. “You need to rest.”
Meta Knight said nothing, weighing his options. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Okay,” he relented. “But first, may I use your shower? I reek.”
“Well, you should probably just use the tub instead. I have some damn good water pressure,” Dedede boasted lightheartedly.
The king showed him each item lined up along the wall and put into racks. Shampoo, conditioner, soap bars, bath bombs, oils, and just about anything that was fit for royalty. Meta Knight stared.
“…This is too much,” he mumbled, nonplussed.
Dedede laughed. “I haven’t even shown you my candles or steamers!”
“And that’s why I prefer showers. I don’t need all of these luxuries to get myself clean.”
“True, but you’re talking to someone who lives for luxury. Things like this might not be essential to getting the job done, but it really helps with stress.”
Meta Knight carefully sat down, reclining against the wall. He breathed deep a few times, eyes fluttering shut. Dedede frowned and squatted next to him.
“Hey, do you need more water?”
The knight infirmly shook his head. “I’m fine, just…”
“Tired?” Dedede asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
The king nodded, and stood to turn the faucets on. He lazily swirled his hand through the tub to check the temperature before squeezing a bottle of rosemary-peppermint soap into the running water. The room filled with a softly pleasant smell as he opened one of the cabinets to grab a towel and washcloth.
“You probably won’t like hearing this,” Dedede posited, “but I think I should help you wash.”
Meta Knight’s eyes popped open at record speed. If looks could kill, Dedede would be just as banged up as he was. The king raised his hands in mock surrender.
“I know, I know. Just listen,” Dedede urged. “I’ll turn around while you get in. I won’t even be here for the whole thing, okay? I figure you need some time to yourself. So I’ll just wash your hair and that’s it. You can even keep the mask on until I leave.”
“I can wash my own hair,” the soldier growled.
“Unless you’re trying to ruin my handiwork, I think the hell not. Stop being such a hard ass.”
Dedede heard a huff. Was he… sulking?
“… I even filled the tub with bubbles to give you some coverage,” the king mentioned.
Meta Knight’s mood seemed to sour even more. All the same, though, he slipped the shirt off and carefully let his wings stretch out.
“You’ve already seen most of my body,” he muttered in dismay. “I accept your terms, but know that I do so bitterly.”
Dedede closed his eyes and turned.
“Whatever. Get in before the water’s colder than your dark, brooding heart.”
“You are so childish sometimes,” Meta hissed.
“So are you!”
Water sloshed along porcelain edges.
“I am not.”
Dedede snickered. “Uh, yeah you are, with your big ol’ ego. Can’t even get in a bath without turning as red as a maxim tomato.”
“You of all people shouldn’t be judging anyone else’s ego.”
“What kind of king would I be without a good ego?” Dedede chortled. “Are you in yet? Lemme know when you’re all settled.”
“Hm.”
A moment passed. When Meta quietly said he was ready, Dedede opened his eyes and got to work. He lathered the knight’s head with one of his favorite shampoos, which paired perfectly with his coconut-scented conditioner. At first, Meta Knight was nothing if not stiff. As the king continued to massage the other’s scalp, however, his muscles seemed to relax slightly. Still… getting him to lift his head was like pulling teeth at times.
“See, you’re more childish than I am,” Dedede teased. “You get so prideful that all you do is fuss if you can’t flaunt your cape and look cool.”
“You play with bubbles every time you bathe.”
“Not every time!”
“I bet you have a rubber duck somewhere,” Meta mused.
Dedede chuckled, “Don’t make me show you my collection, now.”
A foreign noise escaped from the other man. The king didn’t even register that Meta Knight snorted until he saw the way his body shook, fighting valiantly against the fit of laughter threatening to release. The king smiled.
“You better quit that before you pop a stitch. If you do, I’mma lather your hair into a goofy shape as punishment.”
The mental image of a serious warrior such as he with a shampoo mohawk abruptly sent Dedede into hysterics. He clutched the bathtub as he wheezed, and Meta Knight sighed, telling him that he was ridiculous.
With the knight’s hair taken care of, Dedede closed the bathroom door behind himself to give Meta some personal space. He made quick work of ordering a cart of food to be brought to his chambers, then went through his wardrobe in search of sleepwear for them both. Triumphantly, he pulled out a pair of pants with drawstrings; if it didn’t fit Meta despite pulling them, he could always use safety pins.
Upon the knight’s request, the red shirt was swapped with something that would give his wings more space underneath. One of Dedede’s hanten robes worked nicely, though it left more exposure of skin. He supposed he could offer a blanket if Meta got cold.
They ate their dinner, an assortment of different dishes since Dedede wasn’t sure what Meta Knight might have been in the mood for. The other man surprised himself, seemingly peckish until there was something actually in front of him. He was sick of rations, more than likely.
The night rolled in quietly, stars turning their faces to the land of dreams as the moon reflected their light in whispers. Dedede brandished a backup toothbrush for Meta Knight as they prepared for sleep, though the soldier mentioned having one of his own. Pocket dimensions were a convenient asset in many regards, evidently. The king wondered what kind of other mundane items he held in that cape. Was there a limit to how much he could store?
Dedede sighed, letting his eyes trace along the patterns of the ceiling. He fidgeted with his hands, pinching at the edge of his palm as he tried again to settle under the covers.
“Do you still have trouble sleeping?” Meta Knight asked from his side. The king shifted his gaze to him, and they laid there for a while, simply taking each other in. Their eyes didn’t stray from one another.
It was weirdly intimate, seeing him like this. In his bed, in his clothes, and apparently in his mind. Or maybe Dedede was just that easily readable. He breathed in, filling his lungs as deeply as he could manage. A three second hold, then a release. If Meta Knight can swallow his pride enough to reconnect -- even in his own preternatural methods -- then so too could Dedede put a cork in his own.
They’d seen each other at their worst already.
He smiled wistfully, “I’m so tired.”
Then, again, brokenly: “I’m so tired, Meta.”
He still felt it all around him, the darkness watching him and prying into his skull. The weight of it was too heavy to bear after so long.
Eyes everywhere, lurking.
Surrounding him.
Inside of him.
“I can still feel it.”
“Feel what?”
It whispered his worst traits, reminding him of every sin he ever committed. He was only made of good intentions, not good deeds. He’s failed, and failed, and failed. He’ll fail again countless times.
“Feel what, your majesty?”
Something in the knight’s voice was so tender, and it made Dedede’s stomach twist. Like it was proof that he was ruined and there was no going back. And it was no wonder to him that Meta Knight hissed and snarled at kindness when he himself wanted to squirm away from the comfort of his bed. To be seen like this was shameful.
He wasted his life. Ever since he was a child, the days slipped from his fingers. How many hours had he spent frustrated that nothing around him was his size, or that any good he did for the world made things worse? He never meant to be cruel, but that did not make him a kind person. He was a burden to his people.
He never deserved the crown but it was all he truly had, heavy as it was.
“I’m sorry that I was the only person you felt you could turn to,” Dedede sniffled. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the quiver of his lip. The bed shifted, and Dedede felt a hand press on his shoulder.
“Don’t listen to it. Whatever it is you’re hearing, pay it no heed.”
He sucked in a breath, laughing grimly and covering his face with a hand.
“What happens when everything I’m hearing is true? You were right to stage a coup, Meta. I keep running away from my problems and those around me are the ones who pay for it.”
The hand on his shoulder stiffened, and all Dedede wanted to do was push him away, to be anywhere but here.
“No,” the knight said firmly. “I wasn’t. You said it yourself that we’ve both made mistakes.”
His voice seemed to waver slightly, and he hesitantly took hold of Dedede’s hand.
“We learn from those mistakes and strive to be better, don’t we?”
“That don’t change the trouble I bring,” Dedede said. “I’ve been trying to be better my whole life and I still haven’t gotten it right.”
Meta Knight pressed the king’s hand against his chest.
“Do you believe this has brought me trouble? That you have doomed me in some way?”
His heart was beating so fast, quick and alive against Dedede’s palm.
“I would have bled out, your majesty. If anything, you have saved me from trouble. I should be the one apologizing.”
The king practically jumped out of the covers.
“For what? You were hurt!”
“For disrupting your peace and making you lose your precious earring--“
There was a dry humor in the knight’s tone. Dedede rolled his eyes.
-- but truthfully, for the duel. I’m… I thought that maybe…”
Meta Knight grunted, scooting away to the other end of the bed once again.
“Perdóname. We should rest; there will be plenty of time for us to talk tomorrow.”
“I’ll count you to it,” Dedede said, anticipation coiling in his chest.
They settled back under the comforters. Minutes passed, and the king’s mind was still buzzing.
‘Don’t listen to it’…
What was ‘it’? Dark Matter? Nightmare? None of it seemed right, and yet there was no way to shake off the apprehension.
“You can turn on a few lights if you need to,” Meta Knight said.
So much for insisting on rest. Dedede smiled; he hadn’t heard Meta Knight this chatty in a long time.
“Now what makes you say that?”
“The night that I asked you to help with my wing, I noticed you had a number of light sources around your room. I figured it helped you sleep.”
Dedede harrumphed lightheartedly, “I ain’t scared of nothing.”
He heard the knight chuckle beside him.
“I never said that you were,” Meta pointed out. “Don’t feel ashamed though, I also used to be afraid of the dark. You helped me face him.”
That was so long ago, back before Meta Knight had acquired his dimensional cape. And it was before Kirby had stepped foot in Dreamland. Dedede remembered like it was yesterday, though, when they sealed away Nightmare. It was the first time he’d seen Meta lose his composure, fighting in a manner so uncouth that it left Dedede shaken even after the adrenaline of battle had worn off. It was the first time he’d seen the knight’s wings too, watching in a mix of fear and astonishment as Meta grabbed the wizard by the cloak and stabbed his talons deep into his neck. Dedede hadn’t considered his fury being a disguise.
“Goodnight, your majesty,” Meta Knight murmured cordially.
Warmth flooded the king’s senses, and though he continued to stare at the ceiling, there was little worry in his mind. If Meta Knight didn’t seem stressed about Nightmare, then perhaps he hadn’t returned after all. Dedede had all the light he needed that night; sleep came to him with relative ease.
The last thing Dedede had expected when he woke up was to feel a body squished against his side the next morning. Meta Knight was curled into the blanket Dedede must have pushed aside during his slumber, deeply embedding himself into the space over the king’s newly numb arm. One wing laid over Dedede’s midriff, the other stretched across the sheets.
If he hadn’t been so dumbfounded by the situation he found himself in, Dedede might have laughed at the whistle-like sound of each exhale from the knight. It was peaceful, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else at that moment… but he really needed to go to the bathroom. If he managed to slip out without waking Meta, then maybe--
Leathery wings twitched as the knight unfurled his limbs to stretch. He breathed deep, groggily mumbling like the crackling of a fire. When he raised his head, Dedede had to restrain himself from giggling at Meta Knight’s crooked mask. Did he really sleep in that thing?
“Morning, sleepyhead,” the king grinned. Meta blinked at him before recognition filled his gaze and he recoiled. Dedede heard him swear under his breath as he tried to smooth down a cowlick.
A knock at the door made the king startle, and Meta Knight flailed before sliding behind the bed to hide.
Bandanna Dee gently opened the chamber door, peeking in and seemingly surprised upon seeing Dedede out of bed.
“Great King! Good morning, I wasn’t expecting to see you up already.”
“Mornin’, kid, I’m just as shocked as you are!” He laughed. “I guess I’m just hungry.”
The soldier stood to attention. “Oh, well the cooks downstairs are working on making breakfast as we speak. We can head down right now if you’d like.”
Shit. Dedede had been ordering food to be brought up more than usual as of late. Brows would raise if he continued, but…
“Sounds good,” he tried to smile without strain. “I’ll meet you down there in a few, I need to pretty myself up a little.”
Bandanna Dee bowed playfully, “You’re as radiant as ever, sire, sleep bonnet and all. Either way, we’ll greet you very soon!”
He beamed, then waddled back into the hallway, leaving the king to his devices. Dedede massaged his temple, checking over the other side of the bed to see how Meta Knight was managing.
“You didn’t tear anything, did you?”
“Your bedsheets are fine.”
“I was talking about you, dummy.”
Meta Knight stirred, hand inspecting near his hip.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Dedede grinned, “Good. Now I’m allowed to laugh at the way you scrambled onto the floor.”
The knight glared, but there was little bite in his stare. It was hard to look intimidating with a bedhead, anyway. Dedede stretched lazily, making his way over to the wardrobe and began sorting through his outfits.
He showed Meta Knight some of the books that were piled under his coffee table -- “in case you get bored,” he said -- before taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth. Once Dedede dried his hair, he grabbed a hair brush and some oil. He got to work, threading his fingers through tangled locs and using the excess to buff up his face for some shine.
Eyes burrowed their way through him, and for once he smiled at the feeling. He knew who they belonged to.
“Not a fan of fantasy novels, or am I distracting you?”
“I’m just observing,” Meta Knight stated. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. In fact…” Dedede spun around and sat down, crossing his legs. “C’mere. Let me brush your hair, too.”
Meta Knight set down the book awkwardly, scooting in front of the king with a deeper shade on the tips of his ears. Dedede gathered wild indigo hair into his hands, getting a feel for the waves curled around his fingers.
“Is now a good time to talk?” Dedede asked.
“Would we have time? Your servants are waiting for you.”
“They know I take a while to get myself ready. Making yourself presentable is serious business, y’know.”
“I do,” Meta chuckled.
Dedede untangled some of the strands draped over the knight’s nape. “So… what happened?”
“… I’m not sure if you’ll believe me.”
“Try me, sweetness.”
A reddened ear flicked, and a wing slapped Dedede’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smirk as he grabbed the brush and got to work. He wasn’t sure what brought on the obnoxious pet name; something to lighten the mood, he told himself. It was silly. That’s all it ever was, just a joke. But there was a sense of gratification that bloomed from deep in his gut seeing the other man act so flustered. Payback, Dedede decided, for the quip about rumors last evening.
Meta Knight mumbled with scorn.
“I summoned Galactic Nova,” he stated bluntly, and Dedede’s hand nearly stilled.
To summon a Nova was a rare achievement, one that required a grueling quest for the seven stars. The only other person Dedede knew who successfully managed to meet Galactic Nova was Kirby, but their wish had been stolen. That maniacal jester still hadn’t shown his face in Dreamland… but when he did, there would be a hefty mallet waiting for him if he tried anything again.
“So, then… did you make a wish?” Dedede asked.
Meta was quiet for some time. Before the king could repeat the question, he answered, “I didn’t know what I wanted until I saw its face. Answers, more than anything.
“The way our duel had ended… When I finally got you to lose your composure -- to stop being so… nice –- I thought I was helping us both. But evidently, I was wrong. I realized that you’ve started to change for the better since the time of my invasion, and that I haven’t done anything except run away. I couldn’t handle it. So, I sought after the seven stars to prove that I’d stop hiding and face myself.”
Dedede gently removed a stubborn knot, making his way slowly upward with the brush. So the duel was… what, some way to get their frustrations out?
“You could have told me that was why you wanted to fight,” he interjected. “It would have helped us avoid any misunderstandings.”
“No,” Meta Knight said. “It served well that I got you to fight the way you did.”
“By knocking your damn teeth out? You wanted to duel as a punishment or something?”
No response. Dedede deflated.
“Meta–”
“I know,” he sighed.
The knight stretched his wings out slightly. Dedede hadn’t even noticed the burns scattered across the forearms of his limbs until now, up close like this. The membranes didn’t seem to be in bad condition, at the very least. He got up, muttering a “hold on” to grab ointment. He popped the cap open after sitting back down.
“... I’m putting some medicine on your wings, so don’t get all jumpy. Did you find the answers you were looking for?”
Meta Knight tensed slightly at the king’s touch, sucking in a breath. “I did, but…”
“Not the kind you wanted?”
He shook his head. “I succumbed to my dissatisfaction. My wish should have been for something more noble. Instead, I acted out to satiate my bloodlust. If I could win against the strongest warrior in the galaxy, then I could take on anything. That’s what I believed.
“So I asked to fight Galacta Knight,” Meta chuckled bitterly.
Dedede felt the hairs on his arms raise. He’d always believed that they were a myth: one of the ancient heroes of Yore, sealed away for their destructive power. It was said they could raise a single hand and annihilate entire planets within seconds. It explained Meta Knight’s nasty wounds, and amidst the emotions churning inside the king’s heart, he felt a swell of pride knowing that if Meta returned alive, it meant he’d won. This reckless, emotionally constipated idiot fought a living legend and -- despite everything -- Dedede was the first and only person he felt safe enough to show the wretched, sanguinary aftermath to.
“You’re insane, y’know that?” Dedede simpered, fondness clear in his voice just as the huff of Meta Knight’s tired laugh.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive,” Meta recollected, eyeing the light callouses along the palm of his sword-hand. “Even in the vacuum of space, I could hear their battle cries, smell the scent of sulfur burning from their magic.
“One of their beam slashes had flown too true, as you know. I was midair, evading a tower of fire they’d conjured. They sliced through it to get to me while I was distracted.”
Dedede set aside the ointment and leaned back, watching the subtle rise and fall of the soldier’s figure with every breath he took.
“Damn lucky shot, huh?”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Every move they made felt so… furious, yet calculated,” Meta admitted. “Like they were hunting. When Galacta Knight was released from the crystal imprisoning them, it was as if they were stepping back into a battlefield they’d never left in the first place.”
The king remembered stories of how the Aeon Hero had been sealed away numerous times, but the details always changed in translations. Some myths claimed that they escaped, their cage far too weak to withstand their power. Other tales said that they were summoned for a range of purposes, good and evil. Those who tried to use their power often didn't get their way; it wasn’t easy to leash an ancient warrior.
What did time mean to someone like that? Were they ever aware of the centuries spent locked away, or did they live in a constant loop of never once leaving the fight, as Meta had described?
“After I managed to land the final blow, they let out the most… deafening sound imaginable, before their crystal shell had encased them again. For a moment we locked eyes and all I could see was myself, trapped and seething over my own mistakes. I thought that I would have achieved glory, in some fashion of the word,” Meta Knight shuddered. “But when I fell back to Popstar, I felt the grass underneath me and saw Dreamland. And I realized that even then I had done nothing but prove that I was as short-sighted as ever.
“If my rebellion had succeeded… I would have ruined your kingdom, and turned this land into something it was never meant to be. My justice was blinded by a thirst for power.”
Dedede wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Strangely, it hurt, hearing him wax poetic about his regrets. There was a mixture of relief, and sadness –- not unlike pity –- but ultimately frustration crept into the crease of his brow as he contemplated. Whether that frustration was directed at Meta Knight or himself, he didn’t know.
A headache was beginning to brew, common in the knight’s presence. All this time, Dedede had been chasing epiphanies that only led him in circles, because perhaps he did hate Meta after all. Not because he disliked him, but that he simply cared too much. It took them half a year to even talk to each other again. Part of him was grateful to know it happened sooner than he’d originally expected, but it was… conditional, nonetheless. A favor. And yet… he couldn’t deny the vulnerability of it. The fire between them.
Somewhere in a prince’s stack of fables, a man defied the words written on paper after he fell from the skies. The earth caught his body, burning like a comet, and he rose from the ashes stronger and freer than ever before.
Stars, Dedede wanted to hold him. Just to hear him breathe, or to even rub his back to soothe him and hopefully feel the thundering of his heart, all to accept just how much he had truly missed Meta Knight, and times like these when they would talk for hours, do mundane things like bicker over a game of chess, or eat freezer-burned ice cream together in the dead of night.
But he was tired of taking things that weren’t his. So when Meta Knight coughed, curling into himself and straining to avoid popping a stitch, the king settled for a familiar ache in his chest. He filled another glass of water for him and nothing more.