Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Skye was ecstatic. Pria had asked him to fix up the cottage on the old farm. Just get it livable, she had said. He had. It looked great if he said so himself.

And he did, several times to both Sunny and Groose. To the Mayor and Rue. Sure it was still a little rundown and could use some upgrades to make it truly a home, but he could hash that with the new tenant later. But wasn’t that also exciting? Korok Town hadn’t had anyone new since Dr. Aurora’s sister came a couple of years ago. Danica was a lovely addition to their town, but it still never hurt to have another.

New blood, fresh perspectives, and all that jazz that Pria talked to Sunny and the others about during their weekly meet up to exercise together in Ms. Marlon’s living room. Speaking of Ms. Malon, the new person coming to take over the old farm is her nephew! Skye hoped that they were as easygoing as the rancher. It would make the settling in process a little easier in such a small town.

He stood waiting for Pria at the bus stop, they were to be there to welcome the new member of their community upon arrival. The morning air was brisk with the lingering chill of winter taking its sweet time easing away in the bright Spring sunshine. He snuggled himself down a little further into the bulky bomber style jacket he loved with a sniffle and a yawn. The years and years old cherry tree had long since stopped giving fruit, but it still exploded in soft pink blooms every year. The soft floral scent of the blooms mingled with the fresh mountain air and the incoming sharp smell of coffee.

“Mornin’ Pria,” he called.

“Good morning, Skye.” She smiled as she handed him the second cup in her hand. “Freshly made to your ‘goddess blessed ridiculous tastes’ per a very much not awake Wilde.”

Skye snickered. That tracks. “What d’ya think they’ll be like?”

It was the question on everyone’s minds.

“Who knows?” Ah. Cryptic as ever.

They didn’t have to wait long, praise Hylia, sipping warm coffee and discussing what Groose’s latest exploits were while they passed the minutes. Then there was an echoing sound coming down the tunnel, a rhythmic and metallic roaring that could only be the bus. They didn’t get much in the way of vehicular traffic all the way out here. Which they all much preferred. The pale spring sunlight positively glittered on the silver roof of the old bus as it slowly rattled out of the mouth of the tunnel and to a screeching stop.

He couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across his face as he heard the deep, scraping voice of the bus driver, Mr. Deku, speaking to the passengers.

Only one got off.

He’d have to tell Ms. Malon that her kin had definitely somehow inherited her genes. A gently sloping nose and broad shoulders, just like he saw every Friday at Telma’s. The curious eyes and nervous hands fiddling with the straps of their bag weren’t anything he’d seen from the rancher, but there had to be something that set them apart. He wondered how much personality would be mirrored between them.

“Hello Link,” Pria called. Skye blinked, surprised. She approached him while waving to Mr. Deku as he closed the bus doors. The squawk and deafening rumble of the bus pulling away drowned out whatever was said next. “-and this is Skye. He’s the one who fixed up the house on the farm for you.”

He smiled at that, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Nice to meet a fellow Link.” It was fun, to watch the dawning realization flicker to life across their face. “I hope you find the house to your liking,” he winks, “but not so much so that you don’t ever want to make some changes.”

“Skye!” Pria is quick to reassure the newbie that it’s a perfectly wonderful house, but he knew the joke landed well from the small glimmer of amusement he saw in their eyes.

He grabs one of the bags, a beat up green duffle bag, and hoists it over his shoulder. “Why don’t we let- uh-“

“Jus’ call me Shepherd,” they, Shepherd, says.

“Shepherd! Alrighty you got it.” He smiles over his shoulder at them. “Why don’t we let Shepherd make that decision, yeah?”

With that, they move on to showing them to the farm.

To say that Aunt Malon was a liar would be a stretch, but when she said that the old farm north of her ran was run down… he thinks that she maybe was softening the truth a bit heavier than she should of. The old farm was overrun with miles of weeds, the forest was encroaching upon the house like an army, and he’s pretty sure he saw some kind of spirit hanging around the absolute hazard that was the collapsing remains of some sort of building down the way. It was going to take a lot of time and elbow grease to get this back to looking like anything resembling a farm. The carpenter, Skye, on the hand hadn’t been stretching the truth when he said that the house was fine. And it was. Just fine.

Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes, and he didn’t particularly want to go back to Ordon with his tail tucked after that disastrous run in the big city. What a sucker he turned out to be there. But! That’s all in the past and now he has the opportunity to throw himself into a project!

A really big, very daunting project.

He feels the expectations of his Aunt, the mayor, and even Skye settle on his shoulders as he gazes at the vast expanse of visual abandonment before him. It weighs him down, makes him feel like turning around and going back into the house. Makes him think he’s not truly cut out for all this. His head echos the thoughts in voices he wishes he could forget, imagined laughter ringing in his ears and the feeling of smoke choking his lungs. His eyes burn and fingers twitch.

Aight nothing but to do it, so he starts with clearing a space for his small amount of crops next to the house. It’s mostly weeds and small saplings, so not entirely back breaking work. Mayor Prisca - Pria, Skye had called her… they must be close - had given him a packet of spring turnips in a show of goodwill. He might as well make use of them.

After the planting and watering of his beginning garden is completed, he decides to make headway on making a pathway through the overgrowth down to Aunt Malon’s. It’s hard to tell the layout of the land with all the trees, but he does have vague memories of it being a rather straight shot down from next to, to, to the chicken coop that no longer exists. He supposes he should have seen that coming.

He makes decent headway on clearing a path of sorts that leads diagonally from the house and towards what feels like the center of the property before dark. He’s got a good stack of wood he can split for firewood now too. Not that he or anyone else would really need it much now, what with the warmer days of spring settling in and the simmering heat of summer on the horizon. There’s a brief thought of talking to the Mayor about who around town could need so much wood, it’s followed with a sliver of a memory of someone saying something about a smithy, before he decides that’s a problem for Tomorrow Link and passes out in his rickety bed.

The next morning dawns, bright and early, and as he stands on his porch watching the sun crest the mountains to shine its golden touch across the farm spread out before him…

He feels something shaped like determination and sparkling like hope settle in his chest. He and the farm will bounce back together. For starters, he needs to water his garden and can do something about the felled trees while he waits for town to join him in wakefulness. Then he’ll venture out of this place to visit the General Store, speak with the Mayor, and hunt down his Aunt to either hug her or cry on her - he’ll decide when he sees her.

Chapter Text

It took him the better part of an hour and the effort of moving three logs worth of reasonable distraction before he’d worked up the nerve to grab his wallet, his notebook with his list, and his courage to finally leave the farm and head for town. Logically he knew that there was nothing for be so nervous about, but he really had nothing to settle the anxiety that prickled and roiled under his skin. He didn’t know any of these people well other than Aunt Malon and he only really passingly knew Skye and the Mayor. He didn’t really know any what to expect. Maybe that was for the best, it might be what’s fueling the molduga under his skin though. He nearly tripped over the change under his feet from the packed dirt path to worn, grey cobblestones.

That was the final straw. He decided he was being stupid and half stomped his way into the town square, which was still blessedly empty. He scans the buildings; a pale-yellow house, a camper or trailer, the backside of a big brown building, more pathway that leads towards he thinks another house, someone’s backyard - probably the maybe house, a white building with a pink cross that has to be the clinic, and a tall, very purple building. A woman with red dreadlocks pushes the door open to the purple building and he catches a glimpse of shelves. The sign above the door doesn’t really help, Ravio’s doesn’t really give ‘General Store’. He pointedly doesn’t think of what vibe it does give and pushes the door open for himself.

It’s rather organized inside and he manages to find what he needs quickly. The woman from before catches him in one of the aisles and kindly helps him with getting an item or two off the top shelf. She’s smiling when she introduces herself as Telma, the owner of the bar in town. At what had to be confusion on his face, she claps him on the shoulder and says the brown building by the Mayor’s house. Which helps some. He guesses that’s the building he could only see the back of?

He’s not even fully out of the aisle before someone is nearly running him over while yelling backwards at someone. Shepherd nearly drops his items and ends up hugging most of them his chest.

“Oh for the love of-“ The stranger turns to him and stops. His nose twitches in a way that’s reminiscent of a rabbit. His hair is pink. “Dammit. This isn’t how I wanted to meet the newbie. What’s your name?” He’s very aggressive when? Agitated?

“Li-“ he stops. Clears his throat. “Uh. Sheh…Shepherd.” Fuck.

“Cool. I’m-“

There’s a crashing noise that makes him jump and the pink haired boy groan. Another boy rounds the corner rapidly before straightening and pretending like the crash hadn’t come from his direction. This one has black hair and green eyes.

“Miiisterrr Herrooooo.” He flings himself at the pink haired boy.

Who catches him despite immediately fussing about ruining his introduction and to stop calling him that in front of the newbie. Shepherd really wants to leave. This was a lot more than he expected or wanted. He clutches the items in his arms a little closer and edges away a little. Maybe he can escape this, whatever this is, and go to the counter to pay. Or he'll just shove everything onto a shelf and bail. Something.

'Mr. Hero' sighs, shoves the other boy away by his face, and turns violet eyes back onto Shepherd. "This absolute mess of person is Ravio. Rav, stop whining and greet the newbie. Anyways, he runs this place. So if you need something, he can help find or get it."

"This is Bunny." Ravio, from where he's half hanging off the waist of the other boy, waves a hand and flashes a grin. He's also ignoring the fuming shouting of the other boy. "That's not his actual name, but almost everyone will tell you that's his name."

"Please," he says. "Call me literally anything other than that."

Shepherd swallows down the frog trying to make its way out of his throat and offers a nervous smile. "Uh, sure?"

The pink haired boy nods, shoves Ravio off him, and promptly marches outside. He throws a 'see ya later' after him as he shoves out the door. Ravio merely dusts himself off as he stands and waves the other off.

"So ready to check out?"

There is a goddess.

"Please."

Ravio is nice, when he's not actively trying to swindle you that is. Once he's convinced the other boy to not bleed his wallet dry, he also gets a halfway decent map of the area out of him. On the house. Whatever that means. Either way, he finds himself tucking his purchases into his newly acquired bag that he likely paid way more than it's worth and trotting through the square towards the path that'll take him to the Mayor's. Ravio mentions that Bunny is the one who made it, that he added the details like what residents lived where and such. Small things, but helpful for his use. He hopes.

He catches, out of the corner of his eye, a girl with a blonde French braid and blue jeans tucked into hiking boots making her way up the other side of the square. She is waving at someone he can't see. He ducks past the bushes on the side of the now fully identified bar and sees the back and side of what must be Mayor Prisca's house. It's a pale pink hue, with a well-kept row of bushes along the side and an older model truck parked in the back. Idly, he wonders if it works.

She's outside when he breaks the cover of the building, knelt in front of a raised plant box. The tilt of his head is unconscious at the sight and she's turned to him before he can call out a greeting.

"Ah, Shepherd!" She is smiling at him. "Good to see you in town. I was beginning to think Skye had run you off."

His laugh is a little more awkward than he wishes it would be, but he'll take what openings he can. "Ah no. There's just a lot to do on the farm to get it back to, uh... looking like a farm." And ya know, not a forest.

"I'm sure, but I think you can handle it."

He shrugs. "I guess."

He absolutely can't do this.

"Your aunt believes you can." She dusts her knees off once she's stood before looking up at the house after they stand there in silence for a moment too long. "Seems you were looking for me. Why don't we step inside for some iced tea and chat about whatever it is."

"That sounds great. Thanks."

Maybe he can. Or maybe the Mayor is a mind reader and is trying to convince him to stay. Doesn't matter so long as she points him in the right direction for what he'd like to do.

She does. Great mayor that one. Even points out where he needs to go on his map. Fantastic mayor. This is why she's never had any opposition. He's sure of it.

Four's Company Forge. It feels like there's a joke here, but he's not getting it. Honestly, he feels like only Telma knows how to name a business here. Maybe he's being too judgey. He hasn't named the farm yet, so he doesn't really have a leg to stand on really.

Walking into the forge is a little like walking into the very distant memories of his basically forgotten childhood. The air is hot and dry, blasting him in the face. A bell jingles over his head and he's met with four sets of near identical eyes. An older gentleman sits at a table to his right and smiles gently at him. The name of the business clocks him in the head like a hammer.

"Boys, behave."

"What're you here for?" One of them asks. He's standing behind the counter and wearing a green bandana.

Business, business, business. Get to it. Focus Shepherd. "Uh, right. Tha mayor says that ya'll woul' prolly be... be intrested 'n tha extra wood I got."

Four sets of identical blinks. He blinks back. Fuck.

"She'd be right." A chair scrapes along the packed earth floor as the elder stands. "You must be Missus Malon's nephew. Just call me Grandpa Smith."

"Yessir. You can call me Shepherd," he says. The 'I guess' isn't said but still heard if Grandpa Smith's smile is anything to go by. "I took over the old farm out thataways." His hand waves in what he hopes is the right direction. He's not digging the map out to be sure.

"That's good. You must have been in the Ordon Providence for a while to have picked that accent up. Been a mighty long time since I heard it."

He waves off anything that Shepherd could say before ruffling one of the boy's hair. This one wears a scowl as they pull off their gloves. "Vio, you better take over for Emmie on this and don't any of you think of trying to give him a bad deal. We got Ravio for that."

He tosses a wink his way before stepping through a door behind the counter with a promise to return shortly.

"Well. I'm Violet, but everyone just calls me Vio." They wave Shepherd to join them at the table.

"I'm Emerald!" That's green headband. "I prefer Em or Emmie though."

"Ruby! It's really nice to meet you!" That one has on a red scarf.

And then there's blue boots. "Cyan."

Vio seems to be without something in their signature color but must have notice his look. As they sit down, Vio winks at him. Ah so he'll just have to figure it out later. "So wood? How much d'ya got?"

He squints. "I'd reckon a fair amount. More than I could use."

"So a lot. Rue says that whole place is basically forest now."

Whoever this Rue is, they're gonna have words. Nice ones. Mostly because he really doesn't want to be a jerk to someone he doesn't know. Pah, he's a pushover. "More or less, yeah."

And then they're off. It's fun, debating pricing with Vio. Emmie comes by a couple of times to interject an opinion or to tell them both to stop being knuckleheads. Cyan grumps about it taking too long while Ruby looks like one of those old cartoons where the characters watch a tennis match by physically moving their head back and forth to watch the ball. They're cute. He likes them.

By the end of it, they've come to an agreement that both Shepherd and, most importantly, Grandpa Smith find agreeable. He leaves the smithy with a deal for making rupees, a casserole, and instructions to make his way across town towards the forest. There he'll meet someone the quad called Grannie and the path that'll take him to his Aunt's.

Grannie is a lovely lady who lives with her granddaughter, Aryll, and has a grandson who runs the bait shop on the pier. She also gives him a casserole and he finds himself wondering if he'll actually be able to eat all this before either go bad. Maybe. Aunt Malon will sure think he will, he knows that without having to see her. He also meets Telma's 'no good, brainless boy who's somehow a brilliant chef' - her words - while he's trying to politely escape from Grannie's well-meaning clutches.

The boy, Wilde as he introduces himself, is probably the only person he's met so far who seems half way normal. Or at least as normal as anyone in Korok Town could be. Sure, he likes the Color Quad but that's after spending most of the afternoon bickering with them. Wilde points out a few things to him about locations on his map and offers tidbits on the residents.

Like who to avoid - looks like he already messed that one up.

"Don't worry man. We'll help you out." He says it with a smile.

Then he's half apologizing half laughing as he darts away. Late for work and shouting for Shepherd to come by his place sometime or he'll come by the farm. They just have to talk more, he calls.

It's been a while since he just instantly clicked with anyone. Not since- no, that's not worth thinking right now. Shaking his head, he heads for the little gated entrance to the forest with the sun on his back and something fragile in his heart.

Chapter Text

Walking the pathway to Aunt Malon's is something like getting smacked in face with a particular brand of homesickness. He wants to go home. Except where is home now? Home has been so many things, people, places...

He thinks of his tiny apartment in the city, with the plants in the windowsill and the stray cats in the alley he'd feed. He thinks of the lumpy mattress on the floor and the way it only felt like home when there was laughter that was not his own bouncing off the walls. He closes his eyes for a moment, squeezes them shut against the memories. Shoves them away in favor of different ones.

The feeling of Rusl's arm around his shoulders as they laughed at some joke while fishing. Uli's fingers in his hair as they sat by the fire, ignoring the storms outside. Colin's warmth against him as they read comics together in his room. The weight of Evey in his arms when he gets the chance to rock her to sleep. The way the sun feels in Ordon, the smell of the pumpkins, and the bleating of the goats.

Things he could go back to, but they won't be the same. Because he's not the same.

He's broken from his musings by the high, excited whinny of the only horse he's ever known to run circles around his Aunt. A velvety snout shoves it's way into his chest, loudly snuffling as it moves from his shirt to his face. Epona looks as unchanged and spirited as always. He rubs a hand against her neck as she lips at his hair. He'd forgotten about the mare and her belligerent personality over the years. She definately hadn't forgotten him.

"Oh!" He hears come from the direction of the door. Looking over he finds his aunt. She's got her wild, red curls tamed with a yellow bandana and one hand up to her cheek. She smiles at him. "I w's beginn' ta wander when ya'd show, critter."

"Tante," he murmured.

She hadn't seen her nephew since he was small enough to run under Epona's belly without ducking. Now he was a broad shouldered and sad eyed young adult looking for all the world like he could use a hot drink, a listening ear, and a good cuddle. All things she was more than ready to provide. Even if he didn't want to talk. She could still give the other things, easily and freely. Idly, she wondered if his hair was still as soft as it was when he was a little more than the critter she still thought him to be.

She pushes Epona's head out of the way to reach him, cupping his face gently and watching how his expression seemed to try and crumple. She stroked her thumbs across his cheek bones and pretended not to notice his hands come up to cling to her forearms.

"Oh, te bebe," she coos. "Le's go in tha house. A fres' cup'a cider, a good blanket, 'n we'll get ya sorted."

He holds on to her hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. She pretends he doesn't sniffle or take a shaky breath behind her. That can be addressed once she's got him snuggled into a blanket and next to her on the couch. She sends him off to drop his things in the living room, get comfortable on the couch, and that she'll be there in two shakes of ol' Bessie's tail. He gives her a little watery smile at that.

Just like he used to when he was small and she was having to patch up skinned knees or clean slobbered on fingers.

Bustling into the living room with two steaming mugs, she finds him tucked off center on the couch. The blanket that had always been his favorite, an old deep green knit thing from some great aunt many years apart from them, wrapped around his shoulders and the fingers of his right hand rolling the edge between them with that nervous habit she's glad he never broke. His eyes are distantly locked on the fire that's merrily dancing in her fire place. The flickering light makes his freckles dance and light up the lost, hurting, haunted expression that draws his mouth down and brows together. She hopes he hasn't lost that lopsided grin, full of mischief and life, that he used to flash her when trying to sneak the barn cats into the car.

"Aight, lil creachur, one Valley Special." She hands him the mug with a wink.

The smile he gives her isn't big nor lopsided. It's a small thing that doesn't light up his eyes nor provide any reassurance to her worries. She observes him a little more over the rim of her own mug. There's a nick in his ear, pink scars on his knuckles, and a pale scar on his forehead that's partially hidden by his bangs.

"You's...tol' me sum' 'bout tha time in tha city," she starts, pausing to watch him set his mug on the table with tense fingers and a stiff expression. When he sits back, turning to face her, she finds that his eyes are guarded. "Oh bebe, you's didn't seems so..." She searches for a word, the word.

"Depressed, Tante?"

She finds one, settles on it. "Heartbroken. When we's chatted. You's coulda tol' me. I woulda, it wouldn'ta mattered none ta me, cher."

There's no rhyme or reason to what it is that makes him curl in on himself the way he does. She's reminded of when he was small and how he would act when he was getting scolded. The hunched back, shoulders turning in, the trembling lip.

"Oh critter, you ain't in no trouble," she soothes. She's got her mug on the table in a blink and reaching for him in moments. Tucking her hand against his jaw to guide him into looking at her, she finds his eyes squeezed shut. "I's jus' worryin' 'bout you's. C'mere, we c'n snuggle like we use ta 'n you's c'n tell me alla 'bout tha city."

And he does. Tucked under chin, her fingers carding through the downy softness of his hair and holding him close. He tells her all about life in the big city and how it wasn't what he'd hoped. She holds him tight, one arm around his back and the hand of the other pressed to his head, as he cries through recounting how some girl, Midna something or other, had taken his heart and shattered it. His voice peters out as he finishes the story and she hums a little song for them both, soft and soothing, before she decides to break her silence.

She rubs soft circles into his hip as she rests her cheek against his hair. "You's had a bad time, cher. I'm glad you's here though." She nuzzles his hair after he shudders on a suppressed sob, giving him the opportunity to have a moment regain his composure a little. "We's gone git you's back togetha, no sweat.

"'n till then," she continues, "I's gone be right here ta help ya."

That evening she makes him stay with her and they eat one of his gifted casseroles together. Her tv plays the evening's reruns and he sits quietly next her, head on her shoulder and eyes half lidded as they settled after dinner. She turns his hand back and forth in hers, relishing in the soft warmth of her nephew and the ease of which she's still able to draw his hurts from him.

"Merci, tante." He murmurs into her shoulder, quiet and bashful.

She just turns, drawing him in close again with fingers threaded into the curls at the back of his head, and presses a kiss to his crown.

"'Course. You's more my bebe than my sis'er 'n she know it."

He laughs against her collarbone, soft and sweet, and when he pulls back she knows she's done right. There's that smile, crooked at a jaybird, and mischief  in his eyes.

"Imma tell her that."

She laughs, head thrown back and red curls bouncing free of her bandana as it slips. "You do that."