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Twilight used the wall to support himself, resting his weight on his good shoulder as he plodded forward. Each step sent a thrum of pain through him. It started in his heels, sore from all the marching and walking, shivered into his calves and knees which stung beneath his clothes where he’d slid on them to dodge attacks, then it traveled in his belly, twisting from the blood he swallowed, up into his lungs which rattled with need for oxygen. From there, it continued into a dry burn in his throat, the taste of blood on his lips and tongue. It made his eyes pulse, his head beat like a drum. The worst pain, the most uncomfortable pain, was from the pulse in his fingers.
His heart beat and so blood left him. Through the stab in his right shoulder, through the lacerations criss-crossing exposed skin, through the deep gouges he’d mindlessly carved into the bends of his fingers in a blind panic.
It was hard to think over the exhaustion and pain, so Twilight didn’t think. He set his sights forward, an end goal in mind—find someone—and pushed himself forward one limping step after the other. He knew the pain would fade. It would have to fade. Twilight knew as well as any of the rest that with enough time, pain became a familiar presence. Often in the background, grounding when focused on. It was only a tool, not a punishment. Twilight needed to use it to keep driving himself forward.
The dungeon was a sprawling maze of long halls and shallow chambers. On his way down the hall, Twilight had opened doors to rooms with so little depth he didn’t need to stretch his arm all the way to touch the back walls of them. Now, on his way back, those doors were opening and dark and mocking him. He knew there was nothing in them, but his eyes darted from one entrance to the next as if he might see one of the others standing there, waiting for him somehow.
A draft moaned down the halls, kicking a fine layer of silt over the toes of his boots, which stuck on wet blood staining his clothes. His blood drip, drip, dripped to the stone tiles beneath his feet, leaving a thin staggering trail behind him. He could hear them constantly, a steady rhythmic pap pap pap following the beat of his heart. It was a flam, a beat which took Twilight’s thoughts off the unpleasantness of his current state and let him bask in memories of festivals back home.
Thundering drums, whining flutes, stringed instruments and loud wails of joyous vocals. The grass beneath his feet, Ilia beneath his arm. They turned and twisted in circles, swapping out for other partners as they danced around and around the village square beneath the flickering lights of a hundred paper lanterns—
“Rancher,” Legend urged.
Twilight’s eyes swam upwards, the man drawn back to the presence. Legend look horrified, folding down a map in his hands. Behind him, Hyrule gasped and ran for someone else. Twilight’s aching knees, as if they’d reached the finish line, gave out on him.
He cursed them as he sank to the floor, body sliding down against the smooth wall. His injured hand reached up to grasp the tooth of glass plunged into his right shoulder, a strike of pain interrupting any thoughts or sense.
Legend stole Twilight’s hand before he could grab the sharp edge of the glass again.
“No,” Legend warned. “Don’t touch.”
“S’okay,” Twilight got out. “Not s’bad as it—as it look.”
“Just take it easy, now.”
Twilight bowed his head with a few pained breaths. His feet burned in the sort of pain which only followed a release, as if sitting opened some floodgate. Sweat gathered on Twilight’s brow, dripping from his bangs, burning his eyes when it slipped beneath the lashes.
“Over here,” Hyrule beckoned, waving his arm towards Twilight wildly.
Warriors followed Hyrule into the room, a concerned frown on his face. It was one thing for one of them to grab him for help with say, Wind or Four, who they were far more cautious about and who were much more accepting of help at all. For Hyrule to fetch the captain for Twilight…
Warriors wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Twilight was about as poorly off as he’d imagined the rancher would be. The man sat crumpled against the wall, breathing hard, mumbling half coherently as Legend tried to make mild conversation to keep him steady. Beyond his posture, Twilight didn’t seem to be too injured, if not for his left hand and right shoulder.
In his right shoulder, which Warriors knew it meant it had to have broken through the chainmail, a large shard of glass stuck in the man. The glass was about the size of Warriors’ hand with all his fingers spread, smeared red from clumsy attempt to drag it out. Around the edges, the blood was more concentrated, the color deeper. Warriors assumed that blood came from Twilight’s opposite hand, his fingers shredded and bloodied.
“He’s awake,” Legend said as Warriors approached.
“That’s good,” the captain assessed. “Any head wounds?”
Legend shook his head. “Not that I can see, and he’s talking well enough. He’s just panicked, I think.”
“Ain’ panicking,” Twilight managed.
Warriors knelt in front of the rancher. He set his hand against Twilight’s face, pushing the man’s head up to have a look at him. Sometimes, Warriors found, the mind and body were at odds. Twilight may not have been panicking as far as he could tell, but the rancher’s body was.
“Does it hurt?” Warriors questioned, examining the glass.
“No,” Twilight drawled bitterly. “Feels like a butterfly’s kiss.”
“What a miracle,” Warriors returned. He nodded towards Legend and Hyrule. “Run ahead, let Time know we’ll be along shortly.”
The younger heroes hesitated.
“Do you need help?” Hyrule asked.
Warriors shook his head. “Twilight’s awake, he can help. This should be simple, anyway.” With a bat of his fingers, he shooed them. This time, they obeyed.
“Just a cut,” Twilight grunted.
“Once we have the glass out, I’ll agree,” Warriors said.
The captain opened his pouch, drawing out his medical kit. A quick splash of alcohol cleansed his fingers with a cool rush, and then he was folding up a cloth to cushion the glass with.
“We’ll need to get your top off,” Warriors explained. “Otherwise I can’t have a proper look.”
“Buy me dinner first.”
“I don’t think you’d be allowed anywhere like this. You’d bleed all over the seats.”
“Don’t gotta be a sittin’ place,” Twilight argued. “Could jus’ be a…a cart or som’thin’.”
“I don’t eat cart food.”
“Wuss.”
“I leave the runs to Wind,” Warriors excused. “Alright, count of three, Twi.”
Twilight nodded, tensing in apprehension.
“One, two—” Before three, Warriors yanked free the shard.
Twilight barked out in pain, quieting himself into a whimper. He folded over, his hand flying up to the wound and put pressure on it. It throbbed, surging with pain on the same beat as the rest of his body. New blood spilled out from the wound, seeping between his fingers, staining his lap and puddling on the floor.
“It’s out,” Warriors said, setting the bloody shard aside.
“I’m gone knock yer teeth out,” Twilight hissed.
“After stitches, certainly.”
Twilight shook his head wildly, drawing back, pressing himself to the wall. “No stitches.”
“Rancher, you need—”
“No,” Twilight snarled. “Jus’ plug it up with cotton ‘r som’thin’.”
“I am not packing that wound.”
“Then I will.”
“No, you’re going to let me sew it shut, rancher. Packing won’t do anything for it. I’d still have to stitch it later.”
Twilight grumbled to himself stubbornly.
Warriors shook a tinted bottle, screwing the cap off. “Take some of this. I won’t start until it works, alright?”
Twilight wrinkled his nose over the odor. “I don’t need that.”
“Well,” Warriors said as he poured a dose of medicine. “You can take this and stitches go smoothly, or, you don’t have to and stitches are painful.”
“They’s painful anyways.”
“Then why not make them less painful?”
“Boys,” Time said, rushing in from the hall. Wild was on his heels, panic on the champion’s face.
“I’m fine,” Twilight snapped, shooting Time a glare.
“That looks really bad,” Wild said, wide eyes taking in the bloody shard. “It’s bleeding a lot too.”
Time nodded. “Stitches, I presume.”
Warriors sighed. “If Twilight allows it, yes.”
“Twi,” Wild said, crouching beside Twilight. “It’ll heal up better that way.”
Twilight twisted his head, refusing.
Time drew his frown to one side, and then he closed his eyes, feeling terrible for the words he was about to say even if they were for Twilight’s own good.
“If captain doesn’t stitch the wound,” Time said, “then it runs the risk of getting infected. Besides the pain of it reopening which will inevitably slow us down and weaken you, and infection would stop us dead in our tracks until you’re recovered.”
Twilight faltered.
Time continued, pushing a little more. “Not to mention, all the additional laundry that comes with a constantly bleeding injury. You’d be putting more laundry onto Wind’s plate, because you certainly can’t clean a shirt in your condition. It’d be a waste of our bandages, as well.”
“I c’n warsh my shirt,” Twilight huffed, “‘n I got my own bandage.”
Time sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could offer you some potion, though we only have enough to spare for a serious—”
“I don’t need a potion,” Twilight insisted.
Time looked up, giving his pup a stern look. “You either have some potion or stitches, rancher. I won’t allow you to burden our efforts with your foolishness—”
“Fine!” Twilight barked, fighting off his shirt. “Do yer stupid stitches.”
“Thank you,” Time said. “Captain, will you need help?”
Warriors shook his head. “Wild can stay for support, but I can handle the rest.”
“Very well. We’ll be waiting.”
Time turned heading back down the hall to the rest. He felt horrible for playing on Twilight’s worst insecurities, but Twilight had inherited a frankly otherworldly streak of stubbornness somewhere in their bloodline. It was the only way to make him act reasonably sometimes. Later, after they were back and Twilight slept off the pain medicine, Time would stroke his hair and praise him for all his efforts. Until then, though, he left Twilight in Warriors’ capable hands and Wild to reassure Twilight in his place.