Chapter Text
He was stirred from his slumber at the knock on his chamber doors. Dedede groaned, slowly bringing himself up from beneath thick comforters and groggily rubbing his eyes. He fixed his gaze on the nightlight he had plugged in, one he designed himself using the scrap materials from his modified hammer. It flickered, and anxiety bubbled within the lowest pit of his stomach at the idea of the light being snuffed out. After getting possessed by dark matter enough times to count on another hand, the king wasn’t very keen on sleeping in the dark. He would writhe in his bed, damp with sweat imagining pitch black tendrils creeping into his mind. He burned sage and incense, lit candles with wooden wicks, but while the idea of those scents warding off evil brought some comfort, they would only last so long before the flame eventually died out.
Dedede sat quietly upon his mattress, refusing to let his feet touch the oak floorboard for fear of something grabbing hold of him and pulling him under. He strained to listen for another knock, or some kind of movement from the halls. Anything to prove that someone was out there at such an ungodly hour of the night. Anything to prove that he wasn’t imagining things, that it wasn’t just intuition that woke him. Then he heard it, something metallic. Sabatons. Someone dressed in armor, shifting their weight just outside. Dedede got up, readjusting his nightgown and bonnet to look somewhat decent, even going as far to quickly slip on one of his hanten robes before opening the door. He peered into the hallway, glancing left and right until he saw the figure pressed against the wall.
“Meta,” he breathed.
The knight stepped forward. “I do wish you would use my full title. It’s not like I call you by your first name.”
King Dedede scoffed, “And I wish you’d take that stick out of your ass, but I know that suggestion just falls on deaf ears.”
He was met with narrowed eyes, a flick of silver cutting through the twilight and burrowing into the king’s own. He thought of the moon reflecting on the ocean waters and wondered if Meta Knight could see himself in the deep blue.
“Why are you here, Meta Knight? What do you need from me?”
His gaze lingered, still sharp but softened somewhat. He was considering something.
Dedede watched the light bob of the knight’s throat as he swallowed. “Help,” he practically whispered, and Dedede wasn’t sure if it was an answer or a plea.
He almost wanted to laugh at the irony; the same person who tried to overthrow him was personally asking for his help. It annoyed him that he knew he wouldn’t refuse because deep down he missed Meta Knight. He missed how close they had become while sealing away Nightmare, and he mourned that he didn’t know for certain what exactly went wrong afterwards. The only thing he understood is that it was gradual, somewhat. He remembered being outraged when he learned that the person he grew to trust more than anyone else had purposefully gone against his orders. Meta Knight practically gave up the piece of the star rod he’d sworn to guard over to Kirby. In the end, that kid managed to single-handedly defeat the wizard. The relief of that quickly turned to anger, which he later realized was simply that his feelings were hurt, long after the argument he and Meta Knight had.
“You were a coward," the knight had accused back then. “You didn’t fix anything, you didn’t save anyone. You may have ‘protected’ your kingdom from nightmares but you left them with the absence of everything.”
“I did what I had to do. You of all people should know that anything is a mercy compared to the nightmares that bastard creates in his namesake. Why didn’t you say anything if this bothered you so much? We could have worked something out.”
The knight turned to him sharply, his eyes wide with rage.
“Indeed. We could have, so why didn’t you tell me?” he hissed. “How exactly was I supposed to feel when you shoved a fragment of your kingdom’s most treasured artifact into my hands with little to no explanation? A fucking child had to do our job for us. Are you not ashamed?”
“Watch your tone, Sir Meta Knight.”
It was like hell’s fire froze over at that moment. The king knew immediately that any chance of reasoning was gone after he tried to establish a sense of authority over the other. He was shut out completely, and Meta Knight — seething — turned to watch the baptismal waters of the Fountain of Dreams pour starlight upon itself. They stood in silence and all of the king’s adrenaline slowly drained itself from his body. His heart ached.
“Goodbye, ‘your majesty.’” Meta Knight looked back at Dedede, eyes cold. “We’ll meet again, whether you like it or not.”
The next time King Dedede saw him was after he had stolen the food of his own kingdom, darkness consuming his heart and betraying his mind. No matter what he did, how much he took, he could not fill whatever he felt was missing deep inside. Nothing nourished him. He was ashamed of himself, and because he couldn’t handle it, he’d only made it worse. Meta Knight began his revolution, then. His battleship and hatred took flight, seeking revenge on Dreamland’s lack of ambition. And as always, Kirby had stopped them both. It was the first time Dedede had seen the child cry.
Nothing between the two was fixed, though. That wasn’t something Kirby would have understood — the history and heartache between the king and his knight. This was a matter they would need to solve by themselves.
It was easier said than done, but they had to start somewhere. And if that needed to be in the middle of the night in Dedede’s castle halls, then so be it. He sighed heavily, massaging the side of his head in hopes of dissipating the migraine threatening to make a home in his dome.
“I don’t see any of my guards, Meta. Is there anything you’d like to inform me about before I agree to help you?”
“No one was harmed on my way here,” the knight explained. “But they are… easily distracted, if I may say.”
King Dedede loved his waddle-dee soldiers, and took great pride in their loyalty, but he couldn’t rightfully argue with that. He hummed thoughtfully, and motioned to let Meta Knight inside. Distractions would only last so long, and he swore he could hear light footsteps down the corridor as he closed the door to his bedchamber.
“Why go through the trouble of sneaking around on foot?” Dedede asked.
Meta Knight didn’t answer, slowly making his way to the center of the room, taking in the sight of his surroundings. His gaze lifted to the loose curtains over the balcony entrance.
“I can’t fly,” he finally said, and the words hit Dedede like a sack of bricks.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something… embedded in the skin, where the shoulder joint is. I can’t reach it, and it’s preventing me from being able to take flight.”
The king’s brow furrowed. “Can you show me?”
Meta Knight turned to him, his eyes unreadable. He started by unbuckling the pauldrons of his armor from each shoulder, and carefully placing them on the side table. Then came the cuirass and dimensional cape, his wings shaping into view. Straps and strings came loose as the knight efficiently worked through each layer, his mannerism well practiced. Dedede considered offering to help take off his chainmail before watching the other manage the feat by himself. It wasn’t until he made it to the thin shirt underneath that he seemed to hesitate, but just as quickly Meta Knight draped the cloth off of his skin.
The king came closer, moving in from the side so as not to surprise him. Indeed, there was a piece of metal lodged in his back; the skin was visibly irritated where it had entered. The surface had begun to heal over, and Dedede wondered how long he had left the injury unchecked. He wanted to guess a month, at least.
“How did this happen?”
“After the crash. When… when the Halberd hit the ocean. From what I could tell in the mirror, it looks like a piece of shrapnel.”
It was relatively small, based on what Dedede could see. Thankfully, large enough to pull out with tweezers, he imagined. It would be an easy extraction, something anyone who the knight trusted enough could do. So he didn’t understand…
“Why come to me, and not your crew?”
The smaller man stiffened slightly. “You’re a leader, aren’t you, your majesty? You’ve suffered wounds before. Having your followers see them can lower morale. Or even faith.”
“They have faith in you though, and if I’m right, you feel the same to them. So my question still stands.”
“And my answer hasn’t changed. I have an image to uphold for them.”
“Well, yeah. But it’s weird to me that I’m the person you go to about it. This is an injury you got while attempting to kill me.”
Ah.
He hadn’t meant to say that. Rather, he hadn’t meant to word it so unabashedly. But he was starting to lose some of his patience with this stubborn jerk in front of him. It annoyed Dedede how he contradicted himself, swooping in to beg for help then get so sharp and defensive when receiving it. He didn’t need to help, he wasn’t obligated all things considered. And yet here he was losing beauty sleep because of some stupid pride.
So maybe he was upset. Maybe he had every right to be.
He watched the knight breathe, in and out. The narrow rise and fall of his shoulders.
“…Yes,” Meta Knight said, a whisper. “So now I ask you: why did you agree to let me in, after everything?”
The king’s eyes trailed along the scars carved into the knight’s naked back, choosing his words. He rose from where he knelt, leisurely pacing the room to grab supplies. A first aid kit, a washcloth and the bowl of water he typically uses as part of his morning routine to wash his face. Once he settled back, legs crossed, he began gently dabbing the knight’s irritated skin with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
“I move on,” Dedede simply put.
“So you forgive too easily. That’s it?”
Excuse him?
“No,” the king grit his teeth. “I protect my sanity by not spilling unnecessary blood. I avoid making the same mistake you almost did.”
He set the cotton ball aside, a great headache settling in and turning his face sour.
The king’s patience was already thin enough, so screw it all. Maybe he’s allowed to poke the grizzo too.
“In other words,” he added, “I’m simply a better man than you.”
“I don’t care what a tyrant thinks of me. And you’re wrong, anyway. It’s not that you protect anything, you just can’t hold anyone else accountable.”
Dedede laughed without humor. “So it’s like that, Meta? Fine. You and I have both made mistakes, y’know. So how about I psychoanalyze you back. Why is it that you think I shouldn’t forgive you? What were you expecting to happen? Were you hoping for some honorable death by my hands?”
“We’re alone. I could kill you right here and now if I wanted,” Meta Knight growled.
“I could easily do the same to you. You don’t scare me. Your back is bare and turned to me. You come into my home and threaten me after I offer you peace,” he glowered, trying to keep his tone even. “You wanna know what that means to me? It shows you’re all talk, knighty, and I have you at my mercy right now.”
He said this, mindlessly trailing a finger up the man’s spine, feeling him tense.
“For all your confidence, you’re still breakable. No star-riding pipsqueak is here to save you if I were to get rid of you right now.”
He swiped his hand up, grabbing the nape of the knight’s neck. His fingers lightly squeezed at the sides of his jugular. He felt the man’s pulse beating against his fingertips, reveling in the way it quickened. The smaller man shivered; he could feel through his palm the way he’d nearly shot up in alarm. Meta Knight could easily turn around and pounce if he sensed he was in enough danger. But he just sat there, restraining himself. Waiting for a reaction.
“They wouldn’t be able to save me either if you decided my threats are something of a priority,” Dedede observed. “So what will you do?”
Meta Knight didn’t move, nor did he say anything.
He was like some language Dedede could still speak, but couldn’t read anymore.
And could he even understand himself, if he was beginning to match the rhythm of hiding behind biting words and empty threats? This was getting them absolutely nowhere. He released his grip on the man’s neck.
“Look,” he sighed. “I can’t just forget any of the bad things you or I did. You didn’t come here to argue though, or at least I’m hoping that isn’t the case, and frankly I’m tired of holding grudges. So… I don’t know, let’s talk about something different, okay?”
King Dedede searched through the first aid kit, lining up the things he knew he would likely use.
“What should we talk about, then?” Meta Knight asked.
Well… in truth, Dedede didn’t have any topics of interest ready on hand. Commenting on the weather was a surefire way of letting the other know he had zero ideas. The thought of asking about swords made him feel dorky, and food was something the king imagined would be too soon to discuss. He blinked groggily, wiping down the tweezers, then muttering a curse when he realized he hadn’t even washed his hands yet. He was doing everything out of order.
“Do you have trouble sleeping at night?” Dedede asked as he scrubbed his hands in the water bowl.
The knight tilted his head a little, one of his moon earrings gleaming in the dim, refracted light from the way he moved.
“…What?”
Oh, abort! Abort! Of course that would have been a terrible question, no matter how it could have been taken!
“Ah—um, I asked if you have trouble seeing at night. Like… does the mask block your view, or… y’know, make it darker for you?”
“I…” Meta Knight seemed to choose his words cautiously, his voice trailing slightly before correcting itself again. “I see just fine with my mask. Better, in fact.”
The knight rolled his shoulders, readjusting his posture. “And I suppose I don’t sleep as much as I probably should. Do you?”
Stars, damn it.
Of course he doesn’t, but that wasn’t something he thought wise to share. With anyone, for that matter, but least of all with him. Dedede didn’t get nightmares, no one in his kingdom did thanks to the Fountain of Dreams. Yet even so, there’s been a creeping feeling at the back of his head, one that he can’t escape from. The worst part is that he knows it’s from himself, not the threat of an outside force.
So what was the best course of action for this? Certainly not playing dumb or ignoring the question for a conversation he himself had started… which is exactly what he decided to do.
“Y’know, I just realized something. I was supposed to use the water in this bowl for you, not washing my hands,” he laughed. “It’s not sterile anymore, so let me fix that real quick…”
“Your majesty—“
“Be right back, Meta,” he said in a sing-song voice, taking the bowl in his hands and finding himself at the sink of his bathroom.
Dedede held his head pitifully. What had he gotten himself into?
After counting to ten and rewashing his hands with a generous amount of soap, the king made his way back over to Meta Knight, who seemed to be thoroughly unimpressed. Surprisingly, however, he didn’t bring up their interrupted conversation again that night. So Dedede officially got busy, using a sewing needle to carefully nudge the piece of metal out far enough for him to comfortably grasp with his pair of tweezers.
“You want a countdown for when I pull it out?” Dedede asked.
“No,” the soldier responded. “that will put me on edge.”
“Okay. This’ll hurt though, just so you’re aware.”
“I know; do what you need to.”
One swift tug, a barely noticeable flinch, and it was over. Dedede quickly pressed gauze against the fresh wound as he looked for clear tape to hold it in place. He dropped the shrapnel into the bowl of water, leaving a ripple and blooming into a light red.
“You don’t need to tape it down,” Meta Knight said. “It'll heal quickly. The texture of the gauze will just irritate me as well…”
Dedede smiled despite himself. “Not to mention you can’t reach it. How tempting, the idea of such an honorable, valiant sir knight trying to claw at a piece of fabric stuck to his back.”
“You’re an idiot,” Meta said, shaking his head, and Dedede chuckled.
“So you’ve said many times before. Here, I can wrap it up instead—“
“It’s fine, really,” the knight interjected. His tone was cold, like a gust of wind that could send shivers up the hairs on Dedede’s arms. But any effort to intimidate him was of no use. The king rolled his eyes, too tired to start another argument.
“Well, then. I s'pose you’re all done and taken care of now,” the king said, regathering his supplies. “Just don’t try to fly yet, I don’t want to look outside and see you splattered in the courtyard.”
“Of course,” said Meta Knight, a hint of humor lifting in his voice, though gone just as quickly as it arrived. He slipped his shirt up and over his shoulders, gently tucking his wings through the hand-sewn holes on the back.
“I should take my leave,” he said as he donned his armor once again. Meta Knight made his way to the door, his wings warping into his dimensional cape which he pulled over himself.
“What, you plan to distract my guards again?”
“Yes, I think I will,” he pulled out a marble, refracting against the candle light. “I want to see if they’ll fall for it once more. If so, I question their training.”
“And if they don’t?”
“I imagine there may be some commotion, but they will not catch me anyway. And again, I assure they will not he harmed. Goodbye, your majesty.”
The knight turned the knob, hesitating.
“…And thank you, for your hospitality tonight.”
Then he left, blending into the shadows as if it were where he belonged.
When Dedede disrobed and glanced at the time, he gawked. “That friggin’ jerk! I can barely get in a good power-nap before I need to get to work…”
He grumbled as he went under the mass of blankets and comforters, glaring a hole through the wall and willing for sleep to grace him with its dreamy presence.
It was only after he woke up that morning that he realized Meta Knight hadn’t brought his sword with him when he visited.
Why? Galaxia was practically a part of him, like an extra limb attached to his body. It made no sense to Dedede; he had never seen Meta Knight without it. He pondered for days trying to figure that out, much to his chagrin.
He could have hidden Galaxia in his cape, but what would have been the point of that? Was the shrapnel stuck in his wing joint so bothersome that he simply forgot to bring it? Dedede shook his head as he scribbled through his paperwork. Forgetting his sword would have made no sense either, not to mention how complicated the process of putting on or taking off his armor was. If he could remember to put all of that on, how could he forget something so beloved? It just didn’t add up.
Suddenly, it dawned on him.
The king’s heart leapt to his throat, his hand screeching the fountain pen to a halt that nearly ripped the paper underneath.
Meta Knight purposely left the sword behind as a peace offering. He was trying to make things right, same as Dedede.
Relief and satisfaction flooded him. Dedede leaned back in his chair, sighing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Finally, their friendship would be rekindled. It would take time, but they had already made some mutual progress from that one night. At least, that’s what the king had thought until he was greeted with a broadsword and a note left on his balcony two days later.
The note was a challenge to a duel.
If there was one thing that Dedede disliked most about Meta Knight, it was the dramatics. The king enjoyed some flair as much as the next guy, so he’d be fairly — yet perhaps begrudgingly — quick to call himself a hypocrite. The thing is though, Dedede knows he’s dramatic. He owns up to it, because that’s part of his charm. But Meta Knight? He’s broody, reckless, and downright a pain in the ass sometimes.
So it made perfect sense for Dedede to be furious by the time he finally reached the cliff overlooking Orange Ocean. He extended an olive branch only to be swiped away with a barren twig. What kind of thanks was this? It pissed him off to see the knight facing the horizon, cape twisting and curling to dance with the wind. It pissed him off even further to hear Meta Knight whistle leisurely as he waited for the king to come close enough. Dedede wouldn’t give him the pleasure. He thrust the broadsword into the earth and locked angry eyes with the knight, who tilted his head curiously.
“What the hell is this?” Dedede demanded.
Meta simply continued to stare back, still turned away.
The king fumed. “How did I possibly get on your nerves this time? Hm? Did I really wound your pride so much that you decided to fight me about it?”
“Is this a rejection?” Meta Knight asked.
“Don’t count on it. I accept your duel, under one condition.”
At last, the knight faced him fully, studying him.
“I get to choose where we settle this. We take this back to the castle, in my private arena.”
“…Very well,” Meta conceded. “The location doesn’t matter, either way.”
“And another thing,” the king concluded, pointing at the blade stuck in the ground. “Take that sword back. I have a weapon of my own, and I intend to use it.”
Dedede hadn’t considered how awkward the walk back to his castle would feel until the knight took to the air, leaving him behind. It was a better alternative than walking back side by side, he supposed.
So Meta Knight would wait for him there, and the king wondered if that tried his patience, if he was annoyed by the change of plans...
Those thoughts made the retracing of his steps amusing, to say the least.
He scanned the shadows upon his arrival, the feeling of being watched making him apprehensive. He let the feeling fester into something resembling resolve, and pressed on towards the private arena. Something in the darkness followed him.
And Dedede didn’t quite appreciate being treated like he was hunted, so he picked up the pace and took a few shortcuts, veering left so suddenly he nearly laughed at the abrupt halt of sabatons. It was a sound he hadn’t heard until then, taking deep satisfaction knowing that meant Meta Knight slipped up his sneaking from being caught off guard.
By the time the knight stepped into the light of the grand arena, Dedede had already taken off his robe and brandished a hefty, wooden mallet. It was an older one from his collection, but in great shape. It wasn’t as powerful as the hammer he had modified with an engine, but it wasn’t nearly as heavy either. It would serve well against the knight’s faster attacks.
He could tell by his clenched fists that Meta Knight was exasperated, and Dedede couldn’t stop the wide smirk that spread across his face.
The king goaded, “You getting in the ring or what?”
And Meta Knight leapt over the ropes, his heels hitting the canvas mat so hard Dedede almost expected him to tear through. Getting struck with one of the knight’s kicks would leave some nasty bruises, the king decided. He took a defensive stance, studying the way Meta breathed in as if to try and compose himself.
The knight flicked his cape to the side, revealing Galaxia in its scabbard. His eyes never left Dedede’s as he unsheathed the blade.
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you, your majesty.”
“Likewise,” the king said, then swept his mallet through the air.
Meta Knight redirected the assault, returning a few swipes with his sword which were blocked with the handle of Dedede’s hammer. The king grit his teeth as he forced the knight back, then retook his fixed position.
Galaxia was a well-polished blade. The lights up in the rafters slid across its metal like they were one in the same.
King Dedede dodged an attack, and returned one of his own.
After what felt like a constant rinse and repeat, the king landed a hit, knocking Meta Knight into the ropes. The connection of his hammer against the other man’s side seemed to bring him back into an elated focus, but his triumph was cut short when the knight quickly used the ropes to propel himself forward.
He moved in a whirl, and Dedede had no time to react before he felt a heel crunch into his ribs. He hissed in pain, grabbing Meta Knight by the collar and slamming him into the mat.
Once, twice, then Galaxia’s pommel struck him between the eyes and Dedede saw stars, letting go. The knight waited for him to get up, already back in position.
“Is that all you have to offer?” he asked the king.
“What?”
Meta Knight’s glare was a thing to behold; bright, burning its way into the king’s skin and choking him from the inside out. The light of the arena flashed across Galaxia as he held it out in defiance.
“Show me,” he snapped. “Show me, King of Dreamland, who you truly are.”
His voice was as sharp as the breaths he took in, and for a moment Dedede couldn’t help but admire how graceful the knight moved across his own makeshift battlefield, gliding to and from as the king blocked and dodged like his life depended on it. The swirl of his cape, the loose strands of hair that escaped as their battle progressed — Dedede hated it all. He hated him.
“I’m growing tired of you holding back!”
The look of the blazing amber in the knight’s eyes scared Dedede.
A few lucky shots here and there, a few rightfully earned with blood and sweat.
He hated him.
“Come on!” Meta Knight all but screamed as his sword thrust the mallet from Dedede’s hold. Without missing a beat, the king swung a fist down and felt his knuckles nearly yield to the harsh metal of the knight’s mask.
Meta’s head flew back from the impact but the king persisted, throwing another punch that hit just beneath the smaller man’s jaw. Dedede batted the sword from the knight’s hand and they both fell to the mat, the king on top and striking Meta Knight once more before his body started to give in.
They panted — bloody, bruised, and exhausted. Dedede tried to speak and choked on his own words, clutching the knight by the cloak.
“Why?” he wheezed.
Meta Knight winced, but he didn’t look away. The king could hear his shallow, ragged breaths underneath the mask. Shame flooded his senses and he hung his head low enough to lay against the knight’s cuirass.
“Why did we turn into this, Meta?”
He felt a hand hesitantly rest over his own.
They laid there, trying to recapture the air in their lungs as the adrenaline left their bodies. Dedede ached, more than he would have cared to admit to anyone but especially himself.
He didn’t even mean to say it. Not out loud.
“I’m sorry.”
The knight’s breath hitched, his hand instinctively squeezing Dedede’s but quickly letting go and gently tugging at his sleeve instead. He turned his head to the side, mumbling something Dedede couldn’t hear.
“What’d you say?”
“…m’up.”
Dedede’s brow furrowed and he lifted his head.
“…Huh?”
Meta Knight huffed, “let me up.”
“Oh!” The king scrambled off, face growing hot. “Yeah, well… yeah, lemme grab us some energy drinks.”
He watched in horror as Meta Knight sat up and lifted his mask enough to spit out a tooth. From what Dedede could see, even his nose was starting to crust over with drying blood. Contrite, Dedede quickly turned to fetch the drinks.
Upon returning, he set down a miniature first aid kit next to the peppy tonics, then gingerly handed a damp cloth to Meta and turned away to give some privacy.
He was near the end of his drink when he felt his sleeve being lifted. Dedede glanced over and grew flustered from the sight of a man he’d only ever seen as sharp and deadly begin to dress his wounds.
“You ain’t gotta do all of that, I’m fine,” he protested.
“I’d appreciate it if you indulge me, and allow me to finish what I’ve started… these should be taken care of no matter how shallow.”
Dedede drummed his fingers on the mat, willing the new shade on his face to go away. This was unexplainably more embarrassing than when Dedede had officially settled his — frankly ridiculous, may he add — rivalry with Kirby. The giggly kid unleashed a barrage of colorful band-aids they’d found in the locker room behind the ring, covering Dedede head to toe in sticky patterns of stars, ribbons and hearts in places he wasn’t even injured. His patience only lasted so long before he shoved the near-empty box into Kirby’s hands and told them to take a hike.
He’d never admit that he got the box of band-aids specifically for them in the event that their battle went distastefully awry.
“That should do well,” Meta Knight said, pulling the king from his thoughts.
Dedede looked at the meticulous care Meta had put into making sure every cut he’d endured was dressed. Even one of his fingers now adorned a thick band-aid from where the skin had been torn raw. The knuckles of his dominant hand were wrapped in gauze. He couldn’t help but smile a little; the pink menace and the broody knight were similar in more ways than one might think.
“I’ve taken enough of your time, then. Thank you for accepting my challenge.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes. I…” Meta Knight paused. “I should let you know that I’ll be gone for some time.”
Dedede’s brow furrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Meta crossed his arms, not meeting the king’s gaze.
“It means just that. I’ll be away from Popstar, and I have little knowledge of when I may return.”
“Can I ask why you’re going?”
“You can, though I won’t give you an answer.”
The king sighed, leaning back and toying with the empty bottle of tonic.
“Fine… fine. I won’t pry,” he said.
“It’s appreciated. Here, I can take that.”
Meta Knight held out his hand for the bottle. Their fingers touched briefly in the exchange, gone too soon. Dedede decided the knight was much like the wind, then — fleeting, sharp, and free. He was always around, but hard to grasp.
After Meta had left, the breeze brought some comfort for his absence. When the wind would pick up, Dedede imagined Meta Knight somewhere fighting tooth and nail against a powerful foe. If anyone would have asked how Dedede would describe the wind after their argument at the Fountain of Dreams, he might have said it was biting and cruel. He smiled wistfully. He’d missed him then, in his own way, and he certainly missed him now.
“You’re not going easy on me, are you, sire? I have you at checkmate.”
The king looked up. Bandana Dee had played a clever move, easily slipping past Dedede’s defenses and cornering him against the board.
“Ah, so you have,” he laughed. “You’re getting real good at this, Bandee. You got me fair and square.”
Bandana Dee hummed thoughtfully. “Is there something on your mind, then? I don’t mean to sound rude but… this was kinda easy.”
King Dedede cackled, “I taught you well, is all. Don’t expect me to go down without a fight next time, though! I gotta look out for your moves here on, kid.”
The young soldier blushed. “Thank you, sire, I had fun! I should get back to training… Please call me if you need assistance with anything.”
“Of course, and don’t be afraid to holler out for me either. I got some writing to do.”
The two parted ways, Dedede patting the spearman’s head lightheartedly and chuckling at their flustered state. Behind the closed doors of his study, the king sighed. He had to pull himself together; missing the company of an old friend was no excuse to slack behind. Bandana was quick to catch on, but he didn’t need anyone to worry for his sake.
So weeks passed. Then months.
Why did his heart ache so from Meta’s absence? It wasn’t like either of them liked each other, not really. Not anymore. But while the string that tied Dedede to his rogue knight may waver, it hadn’t entirely snapped. If their duel taught him anything, it was that despite the bloodshed, it served as proof that even a thin thread can still be mended. It would just take time, and care.
Such as the way wounds are treated.
The wind had been quiet for some time in Dreamland, but at least the moon shined bright. All the same, sleep did not come easy.
Then came that summer afternoon, when Dedede was replacing a pair of dangly earrings that were beautiful but far too heavy to wear all day. It was a reminder to save them for banquets and meetings. His stomach nearly leapt up his throat when something slammed against the doors to the balcony.
It was too large to be an inattentive bird.
Dedede dashed from the bathroom mirror, his bare feet nearly slipping on the tiles as he dropped the second earring he was preparing to put in. When he pulled the curtains apart to unlock the door, he was met with Meta Knight leaning against the glass for support. He was clutching his side, as if—
No.
Because his life depended on it.
The king hastily redirected Meta’s weight against his own, guiding him inside.
“I had—“ Meta Knight gasped as his knees gave in, but Dedede didn’t let him hit the floor. His free hand gripped the king’s robe. “I didn’t know where else to go,” the knight wheezed.
Dedede frowned. Meta Knight’s crew on the Halberd had stayed behind; They were in the process of rebuilding their ship, something Dedede learned from his waddle dees’ reports. He’d ordered to leave them be, much to some of his soldiers’ dismay, including Bandana Dee.
The night Meta had asked for help with his wing, Dedede had questioned why he didn’t have his crew take care of it. And here they were again. Was it truly a matter of upholding an image for him, or something else?
King Dedede remembered dark skies and bright blue eyes wide with horror. His mind felt hazy, not his own, thoughts and emotions stretched beyond the horizon as he lost control of his body. He felt it, the way his stomach had torn itself open with teeth that weren’t his. When all was said and done, he licked his wounds alone, gritted teeth and trembling hands suturing the jagged gash across his belly.
He was ashamed. Again and again, he always had a new reason to be ashamed of himself. His waddle dees and loyal subjects would not deal with the aftermath of his own mistakes. It was more than protecting his pride.
It made sense now. His hand squeezed the knight’s.
“I know,” he said. “I know it, Meta. Help me take your armor off, okay?”
Meta Knight nodded weakly, wincing as he shifted his body. By the time they worked their way through to the soldier’s undershirt, Meta’s breathing became labored and Dedede grimaced at the state of the knight’s clothing. It was soaked through, the blood sticking to the king’s hands. Gently, he lifted the hem of the shirt to inspect his injury. Meta Knight shivered at the air making contact with his exposed skin. The laceration went deep; Dedede could see the damaged tissue underneath, and the blood was ceaseless. He felt lightheaded, quickly covering the knight’s wounds again and applying extra pressure.
“Listen, I need to call my waddle dees to give you medical atten—“
“Don’t.” Meta Knight tried to growl the demand but his voice was losing its edge.
“This is no time to argue with me, you’re bleeding out!”
“Don’t call them, your majesty—“
“Or else what?”
“Please,” Meta gasped. “Please don’t.”
He reached out aimlessly, taking hold of the king’s shoulders. His eyes were unfocused, lost. Not like the fire Dedede had witnessed in the ring.
“Please… I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” Dedede delicately cradled him, burying his face against the knight’s neck. “Stop talking. Just…”
His skin was so cold.
“Just give me a minute, okay? You gotta get stitches. I need you to keep putting pressure on that thing until I get back.”
King Dedede placed him back down as if he would break.
“Can you do that for me, Meta?”
Meta Knight pressed his hands back against the wound, barely biting back a whimper. His eyes met the king’s, and for the first time that afternoon he seemed to have some life stirring within. Stubborn as always, against the odds, and it would finally serve him well. Dedede nodded to him, then briskly grabbed his kit from under the bathroom sink. He rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands.
When he entered the room once more, Dedede’s mouth went dry. Meta Knight was laying on his back, still applying pressure to his side, but the blood was starting to pool into the carpet beneath him. Each breath he took left him shuddering, and Dedede could scarcely see the way his brows knitted together under the mask. It took only a heartbeat for the king to get to him.
Dedede glowered; the first aid kit didn't have any butterfly stitches. He would have to suture the gash, and even then he didn’t have anything fancy. Without forceps he’d need to settle for his tweezers again.
He messily doused the tools with alcohol, spilling droplets over himself. The fiber was already threaded though from the night Dedede stitched himself back to health. For the first time in a while, he thanked Nova.
“You with me, Meta?”
The knight grunted.
“I got you,” King Dedede assured, lifting the soaked shirt back off of the other’s skin. The gash was longer than he’d expected it to be, carved up and jaggedly from his hip to just below the shoulder. Who or whatever Meta Knight had fought pierced him through the opening of his cuirass. Then, they dragged their weapon downward. If that were really the case, though, Meta’s armor would have been notably bent out of shape from being torn apart in the process. Instead, it was a clean cut.
Someone with the ability to wield magic did this.
Dedede’s blood was cold as he pushed the needle through.
“Nightmare cannot die,” Meta Knight had told him once. “He is a dream that lives in our hearts, and feeds upon fear. We’ve sealed him away, but that will not hold him forever…”
So stay vigilant. He knew.
He knew all too well.