Chapter Text
"It was my pleasure. I'm sorry I was late."
The first thing Wild was aware of was weight, pressure, crushing in on all sides. He curled his fists, able to do that much.
What happened? Sometimes, especially more recently, Mipha's Grace left him disoriented, unsure of recent memories. That was definitely her magic giving him energy, life. Those were definitely her words he heard. What happened?
The next thing Wild was aware of was the touch on his face. Did he end up under something?
He moved his hand up to his face-
He tried to move his hand up to his face.
He couldn't move his hand.
He couldn't move his arm. Either of them.
He tried to twist - what did he end up under - and only managed to shift the thing on his face.
It only made the pressure on his chest worse.
How did he only just notice that?
He tried to calm his breathing, but his chest couldn't - wouldn't - move as he needed it to.
Wild tried to keep his breaths short, just deep enough to get him the air he needed.
The air was already too hot.
Okay, what happened? Where was he?
Why was there so much pressure on him?
He felt his breaths quicken again, and he forced them to slow, the heat of his exhales warming his face.
Wild curled his hands again, something coarse running under his fingers, into his fingernails. He rotated them experimentally. Was this-
No, surely it wasn't. It couldn't. His brothers never would've let something like this happen.
Was this dirt?!
His hands scrabbled uselessly against the grit. Though this dirt was freshly moved, there was no give.
Wild felt hysteria bubble up. He barely even heard himself laugh. It would make sense, of course, since he was under the dirt, too.
He'd been buried.
Goddess, his brothers believed he was dead.
He laughed again, the humor never reaching his ears. Of course they did, since Mipha had to work her miracle again. He had died, far too often for anyone his age. His diaphragm spasmed in what he hoped was humor. Nobody should die as much as he had. It was rather unpleasant, after all.
Mipha's gift had started fading, sometimes leaving minor injuries when that hadn't been the case before. Other times, her magic didn't kick in for a few minutes.
How long had he been dead?
Wild let his hands scrabble again, wincing as this skin on his fingers tore. He had to get out. He had to find his brothers, to beg them for forgiveness for dying, for having to bury him.
He pushed again. If the dirt was loose, he couldn't have been dead long, could he?
He wiggled beneath the weight, but it didn't move.
Another bubble of laughter erupted from him. Mipha brought him back from whatever had killed him, but he was going to die again, wasn't he?
A flash of silver, fire in his belly, strength fading.
Of course he'd remember his death when faced with another one.
They were in a fight, that was certain. But what exactly happened?
He cast his memory back through the fog. He remembered weapons clashing, monsters squealing, grunting. A moblin before him, all of a sudden. He hadn't had a chance to react. Fire in his belly as the moblin struck without warning.
Warriors had caught him. Twilight had held him as he bled out quicker than anyone could heal. Twilight knew about Mipha, knew that Wild would return.
But he hadn't. Not until a few minutes ago, or whenever it was. He couldn't tell the passage of time. He could've woken up two minutes or five hours ago.
Wild huffed against the thing on his face. It didn't allow any dirt to fall through, but it did nothing to help his air. It likely wouldn't be long before he ran out.
…What if he just stayed? Why fight to get free? His body was already in the ground, he just happened to be aware. His brothers were already grieving him. He could just stop, fall back asleep, let himself drift away.
He wondered what they did with the Slate. Did they leave it? He felt against his hip where it usually sat attached to his belt. The hooks that kept it there were empty. Of course they took it with them. Flora would need it back.
…Did they leave flowers?
Silent Princesses, like Flora's favorite? Blue Nightshade for his?
Could they even find something like those in this era?
When were they again?
…Flora was going to be so sad. He didn't remember much from when he died the first time, but he got flashes of teary green eyes, water splashing on his face. She wouldn't have anything to cry over this time.
He didn't want her to cry anymore.
He didn't want to be the reason why those green eyes wept and carried such deep sorrow anymore.
He had to get free.
He remembered Hyrule, his green eyes. They would be so haunted, so hollow. They all would.
Twilight would be the worst. He'd be blaming himself. He likely was already.
Wild remembered the words he said to Twilight after the Shadow had almost destroyed him.
"Win this fight."
Maybe he should take his own damn advice.
His breath was already hot against the thing on his face. He was grateful for it now; it kept the dirt above him from falling into his mouth, his nose. He still had time, he could get out, and dammit he would.
He scrabbled his hands, fighting to create space. He had to get them above him.
But the more room his arms had, the less his chest had.
…This wasn't going to-
No, he had to get out, keep pushing. Wild couldn't be buried that deeply, could he? How long had he been dead?
Not important at the moment. He winced as his fingernails caught against the dirt, clumps uncomfortably wedging into the gaps.
His next breath didn't feel like the last several. His lungs expanded and contracted, but he still needed air.
He was already running out.
His efforts doubled, he pushed harder against the weight keeping him down. When he tried to catch his breath, he realized he was still lying in the same position. He hadn't made any progress.
His breaths came more quickly, more desperately, as he tried to fill his lungs with the air that he needed, but all he got was hot, stale, earth-tasting.
C'mon, Link, think!
What could he do? He couldn't dig himself out, not like this. He loved Mipha dearly, was thankful for her gift, but the timing was awful.
Wait-
Mipha's gift hadn't completely disappeared after the Calamity. Sure, it was fading, but it wasn't gone. What about the other Champions' gifts?
Wild closed his eyes (not much point in keeping them open) and reached for his magic. The gifts, during the Calamity, were always there, right at his fingertips, ready to be used. That had mostly disappeared after he'd rescued Flora, but maybe, like Mipha's gift, they hadn't faded entirely. Maybe they were still there, buried so deeply that he hadn't even realized.
And then he felt them, the fiery firm orange, electrifying yellow, and breezy green. They were still there, the Champions hadn't truly left him. Their souls had departed, but remnants of them remained within him.
Wild could feel sobs bubbling up in his chest, but he couldn't spare the air for them. It would have to wait.
How was he going to do this? If he had his slate, he'd use a bomb to move most of the dirt from above him. Could he do the same with the Champions' abilities? Daruk's Protection would keep any further dirt from falling on him, and maybe it would even be able to push the earth already covering him out of the way. Revali's Gale would push everything up. Urbosa's Fury to do the rest.
Wild may have only one shot at this. He'd have to make it count. He'd never tried using multiple of the Champions' abilities at once. Well, there was always a first time for everything.
He forced his quickening breaths to settle. Even laying down, he was starting to get dizzy.
He focused, drawing on the love the Champions had for him, and he for them. He took as deep a breath as he could, and he yelled.
The earth around him shook, orange and yellow shattering around him. The dirt above him finally shifted, loosened, as a gale tore at his clothes.
Wild pushed up, and he let out a sob when the earth gave way. He scrabbled, up, up, up, feeling as though he were almost swimming through mud. If it had rained recently, he likely was.
The dirt started to clump around him, clogging his ears, getting into his nose. But he wasn't going to stop. He'd never stop until Hylia finally called him on.
He reached up and up and felt the dirt around his cheeks start to grow wet with tears of relief. His hand had felt a breeze.
He scrabbled with his hands, fighting to clear a path, a route for the rest of him to follow through.
And finally, he made it.
His face finally broke through, and he heaved, the air blessedly cool in his lungs. He coughed, dirt flying from his mouth.
He blinked, even the light of the full moon harsh against his eyes. Earth and mud still clung to his eyelashes, but he could see.
He looked around, listened. But only the sounds of crickets, frog croaks, and a lone owl reached his ears. A sword was stabbed into the ground only inches from where he'd emerged, crooked from the shifting earth.
His brothers had moved on.
Wild wasn't surprised. He'd been dead. If any of his other brothers (Goddess forbid) had been in his place, he wouldn't have wanted to stick around long either.
How was he going to find them?
Well, he had to get out of the dirt first.
Wild scrambled, searching for purchase, handholds, anything to help pull himself up. The clumps beneath him shifted, filling in under him, giving him something to stand on. Slowly, like molasses, he climbed out and rolled onto his back, chest heaving the fresh, cool air.
He laid there, listening, breathing, just trying to collect himself.
And then he felt it. The pull, a tug he always felt behind his sternum when a portal appeared. He followed the tug, and there it was, inches behind him.
Wild was exhausted, all his energy spent getting just to the point where he was above ground. He didn't think he could get up and walk to it. But whoever was creating the portals (Hylia, hopefully) had left this portal so close he could brush his fingers against. It would do the rest in pulling him through.
First, he had to find whatever it was that was covering his face. He wouldn't be surprised if it was his cloak or bedroll. Wild wanted those back and a chance to clean them.
He found the fabric mixed in with the dirt by his feet, and he froze. It wasn't fabric. He'd know this texture anywhere.
It was Twilight's pelt.
The sobs he'd been holding back finally broke free, tremors shaking his whole body. Twilight's beloved wolf pelt, a comfort for him and anyone else who wore it, had been left in Wild's grave.
Wild wasn't dead anymore. He could return it. He had to.
Tears still streaming down his face, breath hitching in his chest, Wild brushed his fingers against the portal.
There was a pull behind his navel as the portal yanked him through, time snapping and curling around him until he finally landed hard against the ground.
"WHAT THE FU-"
"WHY-"
"HOLY SH-"
The clamor of voices was music to his ears, his sobs only growing louder in his relief.
"…Wild?"
The quiet voice echoed the loudest. As did the sliding of steel.
Wild finally opened his eyes and froze. Twilight stood there, sword in hand, inches from Wild's face.
"Twi," Wild croaked, chest heaving. His voice caught, and he coughed harshly.
"You're not him," Twilight said, his voice cold. The lighting cast his face into shadows, but his face markings were still vivid. "Wild died right in my arms."
Wild pushed himself up onto his shaky elbows, though it brought him that much closer to his brother's blade. "I did. And I'm sorry, Twilight. I didn't want that to happen." His throat was scratchy. He coughed again, trying to clear his voice. "Mipha's Grace has faded a lot, and it took a long time for it to work."
"We waited five hours!" Twilight exclaimed. "How do I know you're not some trick? How do I know you're not the Shadow, puppeting my brother's dead body, or a redead?"
There wasn't a part of him that wasn't dirtied or muddied. He even saw, across the middle of his Champion's tunic, a gash, stained with blood. His own, he was certain. He lifted the torn tunic, showing the fresh scar that itched against the cool air.
"Twi, I'm really sorry," Wild said, his eyes burning with tears. "I didn't want to die, I didn't want to put you through that. I didn't want to put anyone through that."
The clearing was silent. Wild almost begged for someone to say something, to make some noise, so he could be sure he wasn't dreaming and still in his grave.
But through it all, Wild's eyes never left Twilight's. The fire in his eyes cooled, and Wild could see… hope? Sadness? He couldn't be sure.
"I want to believe it's you," Twilight said, his voice almost at a whisper. "But… I don't…" His hand shook, the blade edging dangerously close to Wild's neck.
"Twilight," Wild croaked. "I dug myself up." His breath came in heavy huffs. "I woke up in my grave, and I-" He cut himself off, another sob threatening to escape. Shit, he was tired of this. He was exhausted, just wanted to sleep.
Twilight's eyes turned glassy, tears leaking from them. "Cub?"
Wild couldn't trust himself to speak. He'd break down, fall apart, shatter if he tried. Instead, he numbly nodded.
Twilight froze for just a moment, and then-
The sword dropped and clattered on the ground, and Wild felt a different crushing pressure. But he didn't mind nearly as much.
Twilight's arms were around him, and Wild felt like he would fall to pieces if his mentor let him go. He'd just be a broken pile on the ground. He honestly felt like he'd shake apart anyways.
"Spirits, you're freezing," Twilight said.
Oh, that would make sense of why he was shaking so much.
He didn't get a chance to say anything. Someone else crashed into him, encircling both him and Twilight in their embrace. Wild caught a glimpse of red and blue markings. He could feel Time's sobs in the embrace.
And that was it. The rest of the Chain followed suit, crowding around Wild and Twilight. They were whispering things to him, sniffling, Wild swore he even heard Legend thanking Hylia. He felt fingers press into his neck, onto his wrist, just to feel his pulse. And he leaned in, feeling their warmth in return. He threw his arms around the nearest brother; it didn't matter who. It mattered that he was alive, they all were.
Wild was almost asleep when Time, his voice croaking, declared they should make their way to Lon Lon Ranch. Wild started to move, was halfway standing until a pair of arms scooped him up.
"You're exhausted," Twilight said, because of course that was who was carrying him. "Go to sleep. I got you."
But Wild didn't want to go to sleep. A flash of another time, pain in his belly, and Twilight had told him the same thing. "Just go to sleep, Wild. Mipha has you."
Falling asleep was what put him in this mess in the first place.
He silently refused, keeping his eyes open until they finally reached the ranch, the sunset momentarily blinding him. They were inside seconds later.
Wild blinked, and he was in a chair, head tilted over the back. He could feel that someone was doing something to his hair. He wasn't sure. Warriors was in front of him a wet cloth.
"We've gotta get…" Wars paused for a moment. "All the - dirt off your face." His voice broke part way through, and he looked anywhere but at Wild's face.
"Yeah, it's kinda gross," Wild said, trying to put a smile on his face. He imagined it was more of a grimace. "I'm surprised my face is as bad as it is."
Hyrule piped up from behind Warriors. "Climbing up from your own grave like that? Nah, that's about what I expect."
Wars turned, aghast, but Wild let out a chuckle. Much better than a sob. Wild held out a hand for the cloth, but the Captain leaned around and wiped his face anyways. "Let me do this for you," was left unspoken.
Who was he to deny his brother?
The cloth was blessedly warm as Wars wiped off the dirt, mud, and whatever else Wild had on his face.
He felt a gentle tug on his hair again and heard a splash of water. Wild tried to turn his head and only got a glimpse of Twilight and Malon behind him. Malon caught his eye and shifted so he could see her more easily.
"Hey there, honey," Malon said. "How're ya doing?"
"Better than I was a few hours ago," Wild said, voice light. Hyrule laughed, but even he could tell it was forced.
Malon was undeterred. Her gaze actually turned somewhat stern. "How're you really doing?"
Wild felt another tug on his hair and heard another splash. What was that? He turned to Twilight who seemed to realize what he was trying to ask.
"I'm washing your hair," Twilight answered. He was still missing his pelt. Where had that ended up? It would need a wash after-
Warriors approached with the cloth again. It looked freshly rinsed, but it was still stained with the brown of the-
Wild twisted his hands into his tunic, but it was still torn, still with a layer of dirt and dried blood-
Wild's breath hitched, catching on the exhale. No. He'd already fallen apart enough today. He was fine, he was with his brothers and Malon at Lon Lon Ranch. He was safe.
Something touched his face, and he flinched. Warriors backed away as if he'd been burned.
"Link, look at me," Malon said. Wild finally met her eyes. She wasn't mad, upset, or even stern. All he saw in her face was- "It's okay."
-Compassion.
He couldn't hold it back any more. Wild shook as the sobs finally escaped. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he fell into the touch, wet hair slapping to his face. He was embraced once more. He tried to keep his tears from getting onto this other person's clothes, but he was held so firmly. And he was so warm.
"Just let it all out, honey," Malon's voice said. "I got you."
Whispers in his mind, of a time long ago, he'd been held just like this, hearing the same words. Wild held on firmly, to the fragments and to Malon. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so safe.
"I-I was dead," Wild choked out. "I was in the ground!" He'd been gone, he'd been buried, and he left his brothers to grieve. What kind of hero was he to abandon his brothers like that?
Malon tightened her grip. "That wasn't fair for anyone." Was her voice getting thick, too?
"I-I'm sorry!"
"You have nothing to be sorry for. None of you do."
It felt like forever before Wild could get his breathing under control, the tears slowed, and his shivering stopped. When he finally opened his eyes again, the Chain had surrounded him once more.
Twilight laid a hand on his shoulder. "We won't leave you."
Wild leaned into the touch, into the warmth. He could fall asleep right there, but he stubbornly kept his eyes open despite their burning.
"You're exhausted, honey," Malon said.
Wild shook his head slowly. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to be there again.
"That's alright," Malon continued. Oops, had he said that out loud? "We can set everyone up in here. How about that?"
…That would be nice, but it would still be too quiet, still remind him of-
Twilight noticed his hesitation. "How about outside? The weather's nice."
Wild managed to nod, and he was in Twilight's arms again. He was glad for that, Wild didn't think he'd be able to stand without stumbling, much less walk.
The air outside was cool but still blessedly warm enough to be comfortable. Twilight helped him change into a soft tunic and set of trousers, and soon, the rest of the Chain and Malon were outside with them. Twilight became Wolfie and curled up around Wild. He pressed up against the warmth, the softness that Twilight's pelt didn't have. Wolfie, in turn, laid his snout on Wild's chest.
Time and Malon joined him in laying against Twilight. Warriors and Wind wound together on their other side. Hyrule, Legend, Four, and Sky all pressed in but still gave Wild enough room to move. He grasped their hands in turn, relishing in their warmth.
Wild sighed in the evening air and let his eyelids droop closed. He was surrounded on all sides once more, but not with the earth. He was in the midst of his family.