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A note of surprise disturbs the rain-dampened peace of the ruined alcove. Almost underwhelmed sounding, if not for the way it lifts at the end, it’s familiar in a pleasant kind of way. Sky blinks awake. Body screaming, he tries not to move much when he turns. Perhaps it ought to be more surprising that it was Legend, grip white-knuckled upon his cane and ever-faithful little spirit hopping worriedly by his side, who happened upon him first, and perhaps for someone else it would be, but truth be told Sky simply nods. He despises himself for it, at the very least he ought to be concerned, but on days like these Sky struggles to find much room to feel much else besides what consumes him. Pain, and roiling, bitter shame he's slowly, painstakingly, learning to unpick.
They’ve all been far, far too patient with him, his brothers. These days are still better than the darkest.
“… ages, was hoping there’d be a way out but–” Legend sneezes, damp hair batting against pink cheeks, and wavers on his feet. This weather’s no good for him either. “Hylia, ‘cuse me, but they found you at least. Scootch over.”
“The others?” Sky asks, and tries not to be openly disappointed at the answer. It’s easier to hide when Legend doesn't flinch when instinctively drawn under the thick cloth of his skycloth, instead humming at the warmth he and his cradled blupee melt within.
An edge of darkness slips away like a sigh. His next breath is easier than the last.
Eyes on the clouds, Sky wait for the winds to turn. Despite the cracked stone bench numbing his glutes it’s pleasant enough, Legend wonderfully warm against his unimpaired side, but he can sense there’s more to come. All bonded with a loftwing can. The thought that soon none will aches far more sharply than the tattered remains of his body, and he dismisses it.
The Goddess’ will, as he’s told. Zelda hates it just as much.
As though recognising his anticipation, the tapping beats upon stone overhead drum far stronger, bouncing off the grass in a splash of rebellion. Sky tightens his hold on Legend and– there. A rumble groans overhead; distant, lightning little more than a suggestion, but still enough for adrenaline to surge. His aching bones tell him, miserably, it shan’t be of any use.
“Well. It could be–” Legend starts pitching just to pause, anxious purple eyes fixed somewhere far from here, and rapidly untangles himself to blindly unwrap a knee. “Nope. No. Not giving ‘em ide– oi. Apples. Where you going?”
Sky has to smile. Leaving the pair to it, he looks at his hand. Internally he cringes– he knows this shan’t be pleasant, but…
He’s distracted when Apples, somehow, wins the debate. It’s flicking ears suggests the beast is unimpressed at Legend’s fondly exasperated threats of gust-jars, and has better things to do than listen to the rest like playing in the rain. It's lack of concern is founded. Legend loves the silly thing immensely.
Snickering, Sky braces himself… and begins. Curling and uncurling his fingers drawn terribly tight by inflamed feathered scars, flexing his wrist and massaging contracted muscles and taut tendons, keeping his breath even through each blasted movement that jitters painfully all the way into his right shoulder– none of this should be so hard. It never used to be, and the memories of before are only soured by the now. It’s too soon, but– Sky exhales a shout when his shoulder catches rather than lifts, spasms locking it in place with shocking pain. Nausea burns sour in his throat.
Cheek bitten bloody, Sky’s mind instinctively, wildly, turns to the problem of chores. Perhaps– no, Wild’s scars– but if he–
“Quit being an idiot. I– oh for fu–”
Wrenched away from the melancholy nipping at his heels, he turns just in time to watch Legend grit his teeth and attempt to force his knee into place for a second time. The sound echoes. Abruptly sheet-white, he sways. Lunging to catch him, Sky swallows a gag at the biting sensation racing along his nerves and stills.
“I’m good,” Legend insists shakily against his shoulder. Sky’s eyebrow lifts. Strangely, it looks for a moment like Apples’ does too.
Playtime officially abandoned, the bluepee rushes for Legend’s waterskein and sits, chattering worriedly, until he moves. Only once he’s taken a drink and been somewhat doted upon by preening beak and paws does it vanish into the weeds after an unseen quarry once more.
It returns, briefly, and hands Sky a dandelion.
“Curious little thing, isn’t it?” He muses, idly twirling the stem between his tingling fingers. He refuses to wince when Legend exhaustedly slumps against his unimpaired side and jars the rest of him awfully, nor to push him away. Instead he hooks his chin atop his hair and hums through it. “Remarkably intelligent…”
He truly doesn’t expect an anwer, and nor does he get one. Neither have the energy for it. Hurting yet not alone, simply watch the summer rain fall.
Over time, already distant thunder rumbles quieter still. His body still screams, heart pattering unevenly, but the world is braver now; birds hesitantly chirp in the trees, fairies peek blindly out from their hiding place, and the rabbit-like spirit he adores for saving his brother in a way they never realised he needed turns to watch the first dare to leave through the fine, persistent drizzle.
The silence they exist in isn’t wholly comfortable, Sky realises after a time. Perhaps too much is known yet too little is said for him to achieve that when this mood has sunk its teeth in, but it almost is. Peaceful, perhaps?, is the word? The kind where there’s no nagging need to disturb it, and instead you can simply exist in the state you are (no matter how messy or useless or broken) without expectation or desire to fix. The kind of peace his well-meaning community can never let abide.
He never knew before he found the other parts of his spirit scattered throughout time, but this quiet acceptance is enough, on days like these, to soften the teeth driving shame into your bones.
It’s enough.
Perhaps he…
Legend continues breathe, and Sky does too, and just outside this shelter do the clouds slowly begin to break.
“You’re not supposed t’be of use, Sky,” Legend says awkwardly a little while later.
Lifted from meandering thoughts of unknown architecture and familiar duties, Sky turns. His brother’s gaze is following the strange little spirit investigating the patch of grass glistening just outside the overhang, knobbly fingers fussing with invisible crinkles in dry bandages, but in this moment Sky has the strangest feeling he’s perhaps never been so seen. He tries not to shy from it.
“I know you– hell that I– fucking– just give me a minute.”
Legend groans, tilting his chin to the ceiling, and exhales heavily, and Sky holds back a smile he knows would be taken badly. Thankfully the other still isn’t looking at him.
“Look. You don’t have to do stuff for us, alright? We just want you, or whatever the mushy fuck it is Twilight says whenever Wild gets all in his head. You saying different is– it's insulting.”
Touched though he is at the effort, Sky’s smile escapes with a brief tinge of humour. Wild’s not the only hypocrite among them, after all, even he can admit that. He decides to let it stay.
Legend, approaching apple-red, simply slumps. Moments later, a precious, mostly-empty jar drops solidly into Sky’s lap. It’s lid, he finds, is loose enough to open at a touch. His breath catches.
“Just get that on you and quit being an idiot, alright?”
Legend doesn’t meet his eye, but he doesn’t need to the tiny smile tugging dimples into thin cheeks to be seen. They soon turn blurry.
“You’re not gonna get left behind, Sky,” Legend says softly, like the words are a newly discovered truth too precious to bear. Like they’re holy. “Not by us. Not even when it’s pissin’ it down.”