a/n: rated T for one use of the phrase "fucked up," and also suicidal ideation.
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He had long since forgotten what normal felt like.
For so long, normal had been this: the scent of dried blood ever in his nostrils, the taste of it metallic on his tongue; days and nights blurring into one, and he only knew he was alive because he could feel his exhaustion down to the marrow; waking up wolf, curled beside the half-eaten corpse of a deer he didn't remember catching, but wanting to sob in a twisted mess of repulsion and gratitude because he didn't have enough rupees to afford a proper meal. He'd forgotten the old normal: having a bed to sleep in every night, enough food to sustain him, people who would notice if he went missing.
Here, standing in his old room in his old house in Ordon, he feels almost like an intruder in someone else's life. His eyes fall on the framed pictures on the walls and tables, faded images of halcyon days gone by. These memories, this tranquil domesticity, the comfort of a steady routine, they don't feel like they could possibly be his. It's like his identity has been cleft in two, oil and water, impossible to reconcile.
Coming here feels wrong. How did he ever feel content here? How did he live, expecting only to herd goats for the rest of his life? Was there ever a time when he didn't have this hunger living beneath his skin? It unsettles him. It's hard to breathe all of a sudden.
How fucked up it is, that he could return to this, he can have this comfort and stability for free, and he doesn't want it. In fact, he wants to run away. To run through the woods til he's lost, then get stabbed in the stomach by some monster and lie under a tree drinking a potion that tastes like feet, because that's the only thing that feels normal.
It was so simple being a wolf. All he had to do was kill things and sniff things and dig things up. Goddesses, he just wants to be a wolf again. Let him limp to some secluded grove and lick his wounds and forget who he used to be. Before he rips someone's throat out. Before he rips his own throat out.
It's hard, figuring out who he's supposed to be, what he's supposed to do, without her here to tell him.
Used to be, he'd just look over his shoulder and Midna would be there with a long-suffering sigh, playing the part of the exasperated companion, but there'd be a certain concern in her eyes and she'd make him go to the Hidden Village and drown in cats for a while until this mood went away. "Eat something," she'd tell him. "Go lie in a spirit's spring for a while. You're overworking yourself, idiot. Hyrule needs you alive. I need you alive."
He hasn't felt alive in a long time.
There was always something solid to his identity. First it was "goatherd," then "hero." But now that evil is erased from Hyrule, that foundation is erased. He isn't a hero anymore, but neither is he the goatherd he used to be. He can't go back to being either. He's both and neither. If she were here, he could be "Midna's," and that would be enough to keep him solid til he figured out the rest. But she's gone, and he's nothing, floating untethered in a void of impermanence. "Broken" and "tired" and "restless" are what he is, not who he is.
He doesn't know who he is.
The problem is, he should be alive but he doesn't know how to be. It feels like there's a whole checklist of things he has to be to qualify as alive, and all of the boxes are empty, except "breathing," maybe.
He doesn't know who he is or how to be alive or where to go or what to do, he needs someone to tell him, he needs Midna back, he doesn't know how to do this without her. Because if he asks Zelda who he should be, he's terrified she'll say "prince," and he doesn't know how to love her the way she deserves. Because she'll say he's "brave" and "kind" and "noble" because she hasn't seen him at his worst, when he's terrible and fierce and dark, empty and aching and worthless. Because Zelda will be grateful and generous and give him a big room with soft pillows and she'll love him pure and easy, like he deserves it. And he's not ready to believe he deserves it. And he doesn't want her to heal him. He doesn't want to be better.
It's terrible to admit, but it's true: he doesn't want to heal. He wants to feel this, every awful moment of it. He wants to let the darkness take over, even if for a little while. He's so, so tired.
He wants to sleep for a hundred years. He wants to bury a sword in his gut. He wants to go to Telma's bar and eat too much and get drunk and wake up in some stranger's bed. He wants to drown himself in Lake Hylia. He wants to lie spread-eagle in the middle of Hyrule Field and let the sun burn the darkness out of him. He wants to turn wolf and walk into Castle Town and let the guards skewer him on their spears. He wants to live recklessly and make a fool out of himself and not feel anything. He wants to feel everything. He wants them to build a statue of him in the capital so he can destroy it with his ball and chain. He wants to be okay. He wants to die in a ditch. He wants to be mourned. He wants to be forgotten.
He wants Midna back.
Goddesses, he misses her so bad. The only person who ever knew him, really knew him, and she's gone. She never had a preconceived notion about him in her life, except maybe that he was stupid and smelled like a dog, which was true most of the time, anyway. She saw him as he was. As Link. Not for who he used to be or who he was probably supposed to be. She got to see all the messy bits, the blood and sweat and tears and vomit, the nightmares and hunger and helplessness and fear. She couldn't look at him with pity or surprise because she was there the whole time, she knew him, her soul understood his, they were complementary. He'd been part of her for so long, and she'd been part of him, together they were like one entity, LinkandMidna, and now that he's just Link again he doesn't know how he ever lived without her.
He doesn't know if he can live without her.
He could have anything he wants. A simple life in the country, surrounded by people who love him. A lavish life in the castle, every need taken care of. But goddesses, he'd give anything to go back to the days where he was filthy and starving and could barely hold his sword from all the wounds he was covered in, because back then he had her.
But he can't have that, can he. No god or light spirit or power in this world can bring her back to him. She is gone.
And so is he.
What's left? A body. A life stretching out before him.
Funny, he thinks, that he could save two realms and still not save himself.
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a/n 2: throwback to the old days when i used loz darkfic to get out my messy depression feelings. this is inspired by and dedicated to anon Shaari for reviewing a bunch of my stuff. it was an unexpected but delightful surprise to find in my inbox.