A/N: Trigger warnings for this chapter include some graphic descriptions of Ghirahim's burns, in depth narration about Link's hero trauma and how it compares to Ghirahim's, as well as some pretty disturbing things said by the latter in relation to his injuries and the past he currently doesn't remember.

Also, there are mentions of romance. I know that's not a trigger for most people, but I saw another author add it and I think it's a good idea because as a romance repulsed aroace, it can sometimes throw me for a massive loop when romance is mentioned in a story without warning. Especially when I'm particularly upset about aphobia/amatonormativity that day.

It all happened so fast.

Link stood there, frozen in shock, as the horrific scene unfolded. One moment Ghirahim had been reaching out, his eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. The next, he had flung himself backwards, slamming onto the ground with a sickening thud. All the while his mouth was wrenched wide, a shrill, agonized shriek of pain and anguish piercing the former stillness of the air.

His hand, still stuck in that outstretched position, was steaming at the fingertips. It could've been lInk's horrified imagination, but the Skyloftian thought he could just make out a sizzling hiss between Ghirahim's screams. Almost like… almost like… a piece of meat being fried.

"O-oh! No! Oh, Goddessdamn it! Ghirahim!" Normally, Link would've been horrified at himself for letting that out, but at this moment, he didn't even notice the swear. All that mattered was Ghirahim.

The demon had stopped screaming after what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds. But he was still clearly in pain. His eyes were darting frantically around, from Link to Fi, to his still slightly smoking glove.

"H-H-Hey-Hey, Gh-Ghira—him…" Link was filled with so much dread from the situation that he could barely get his words out.

The demon didn't reply. He didn't seem to even notice that Link had spoken. Instead, he laughed. But it was not a sound of joy, or amusement. It couldn't be. It sounded choked and harsh, a short strangled sort of 'nhnhnh' forced out from the depths of his throat, through painfully spasming and protesting vocal cords.

"Ghira—!" But Link couldn't get the rest of his companion's name out. His voice had abandoned him once again, and it only took him a moment to realize why.

Link had heard this laugh before. Heard it so many times that it had plagued his days and haunted his nightmares. A laugh that had come before a brutal battle, or after a sadistic threat.

And all that time, Link had just thought it was a laugh of cruel mockery. After all, Ghirahim was a villain. Villains have evil laughs; it was a trope older than the dirt he now stands upon. And Ghirahim acted more like a storybook villain than the Skyloftian ever thought was possible before he'd met him. But that's just it, isn't it? Ghirahim acted like a villain. This isn't a storybook, this is real life. Ghirahim isn't a villain, he's a person. And that laugh wasn't of pleasure, it was of pain.

Ghirahim was in pain. Pain Link desperately wanted to fix, but he didn't know how. Why didn't he know how? Shouldn't he have been told that? What to do about accidental Master Sword injuries?

"Oops," Ghirahim says simply once his laughter had died down a bit. Far too simply, in Link's opinion. 'Oops' is something you say when you trip over your own feet, or accidentally spill someone's drink. The demon is being far, far too casual about this.

But that's actually not really anything new, Link realizes with even more intensely dawning horror. Ghirahim had always made light of his pain. When he thought he would be unable to revive Demise due to the Gate of Time being destroyed, he'd described his situation as 'frowns all around.' But in reality, it had to have been so much worse than that.

Link knew that if the roles had been reversed, if he had been unable to save Zelda, he never could've bounced back so easily. Hell, he hadn'tbounced back so easily even though his quest was technically a success. He's still filled to the brim with anxiety and sadness and—why is he making this situation all about himself?

"Silly me," the demon was saying. He had started rocking back and forth, his gaze growing dull. "I really should have known better, heh. After all, Fi is the sword, she said so herself. I should've paid closer attention."

A sharp pang slices through Link's heart, more painful than the stab of any blade.

"What, why are you looking at me that way?" Despite his numb expression, there is now a growing hysterical edge in the other boy's voice. "I know this was a rather unfortunate fumble on my part, and it isn't even the first. But there's no need to even consider leaving me behind because of this. It will never happen again, I swear. I will be on my absolute best behavior from now on."

Link can't stand here and listen to this any longer. He has to do something. He rushes over to Ghirahim, kneels down, and holds out his hands.

The demon flinches at the hero's approach. It almost seems for a moment he will lash out, like a cornered animal might when feeling threatened. But with visible effort, he holds himself back, placing his wounded hand into Link's.

If Ghirahim feels any pain when the Skyloftian begins gingerly peeling off his glove, he doesn't react. Instead, he just keeps vacantly staring into the distance, his breathing soft but ragged. So Link forces himself not to wince when the fabric sticks to the demon's fingertips and has to be pulled away, makes himself look when the extent of the damage is uncovered.

It's bad. Of course it's bad, but the hero is still shocked anyway.

Ghirahim's index and middle fingers are burnt the worst, rapidly blistering and peeling messes up to his first joint. His ring finger is burnt on the very tip, but not as severely. His pinky was saved from most of it, but there does seem to be some mild burn speckles there.

It takes the hylian a moment to comprehend what he's even looking at. Understanding that yes, these are Ghirahim's fingers. But he barely touched Fi! His mind began to protest. It shouldn't have hurt him this much.

Was it because he'd made contact with the spirit herself and not the blade? How much worse would it have been if he didn't have gloves on at the time? Did… oh gods, oh no!

Link suddenly found himself in the midst of a terrible realization. The possibility that he could've caused everyone he'd hit with the Master Sword this much pain, and didn't even notice. Why? Why would the gods want this? Why would they make Fi this way?

No, no! This thought process was about to go into very dangerous territory if he didn't pull himself together quickly. He had to stop spiraling like this, focus on the task at hand.

"Stay there," he manages in a tense whisper, releasing Ghirahim's hand so he can begin rummaging through his pouch for anything useful. Please tell me I remembered to bring some potions.

Ghirahim, meanwhile, curled even further in on himself as he began sucking and licking at his wounds. "Overcooked," he mutters. "Should set a timer next time."

This time, LInk can't hide a slight wince. If he had anything to say about it, there would never be a next time.

"Will a red potion help him?" LInk asks his sword. He opts to communicate with her mentally this time, both to indicate this is a conversation best kept between the two of them, and he still didn't quite trust his voice.

"Inconclusive," Fi responds. Her voice seemed a bit more monotone than normal. And glancing up, the hero realized that her glowing form was nowhere to be seen. She must have retreated into the sword during the chaos.

"There have never been any tests conducted which relate to the recovery and healing of demons from Master Sword related injury."

There were so many things LInk could have said in reply to that statement, but they all got caught and clogged up in his throat. So he ended up not voicing a single one, mentally or verbally. Instead, he simply feverishly continues to search his inventory.

Just as he had feared, LInk found that he was woefully unprepared for this situation. He had already used all the healing items he had on hand the day before, to recover from his fight with Ghirahim and his horde. [And in case you were wondering, no, the bitter irony of this predicament was not lost on him.] The good news was he had some potions stored up in the item check. But going to the item check meant interacting with Peatrice. And Peatrice…

Link clenches his fists in frustration. He never understood what went on in that girl's head. One minute she was sharp and aloof, the next she was calling him 'darling' and 'sweetie?' And according to Fi, it was because he came to the item check so often? What? They hardly even spoke to each other, him and Peatrice. How could just seeing each other regularly change her opinion so quickly?

Now she wouldn't stop constantly talking about how LInk had, apparently, broken her heart when he turned her romantic advances, which he hadn't even known were romantic advances until Fi clarified, down. But they'd barely even known each other!

The point was, after going through what he had that day, he just wasn't in the mindset to deal with the exasperatingly confusing dilemma that was the princess of the item check.

"Master Link," Fi speaks up suddenly, startling from the Skyloftian out of his thoughts. "If you hurry, you may be able to visit the potion shop before it closes."

Link slapped his forehead. Of course! Luv! Why didn't he think of that? He felt dumb. The exhaustion of the day must be getting to him.

Link heads back over to Ghirahim, slowing considerably when he flinches. The demon had been very quiet and jumpy since he got burned, and it was really starting to make the hero worried.

"Hey," Link says softly. "It's time to go."

Ghirahim doesn't reply. Instead, he just slowly rises to his feet, without protest, without question. His fingers were still in his mouth, making him look a whole lot younger than he already did otherwise.

"I don't have anything with me that can heal you, but I know where we can get some. But we have to hurry, before it gets too late."

Ghirahim looks as though he's going to say something in reply for a second, but he ultimately remains silent. The demon was never one to hold his tongue in the past, figuratively or literally, so this complete silence was really starting to creep the hylian out. Clearly being burnt by Fi had a greater effect on Ghirahim than just the physical injury, but Link didn't know what he could possibly do to make him feel better, apart from treating the wound.

It was a sort of helplessness that the hero had never quite felt before. Even in his darkest times, he always had an idea of what was needed to proceed. And if he didn't, he could simply ask Fi for help.

But Fi couldn't help him this time. In a way, she was the one responsible for—no! Link quickly pushed that thought process aside. It's not the spirit's fault that she was harmful to demons. And it wasn't Ghirahim's fault for not knowing what her touch would do to him. But then, whose fault was it?

He just wanted someone to blame for this, someone who wasn't him. He hated how selfish that sentence sounded; he shouldn't try to shirk the responsibilities of his actions onto someone else. But didn't he have enough on his shoulders already? Did he really have to add this on top of everything else?

Link inhaled deeply, using the exhalation to whistle for his loftwing, causing his injured companion to jump once again. When the crimson bird arrived, it could clearly tell that all was not well with its two riders.

"Yeah," LInk said lowly in reply to his loftwing's concerned chirps. "Ghirahim's not doing so well. There was a… bit of an accident."

"Won't happen again I swear." The demon says suddenly, too suddenly. And quickly. He slumps in on himself under the hero's concerned gaze.

"It's not your fault," Link tells him, keeping his voice soft. "I never explained what touching Fi would do to you. You had no way of knowing that was going to happen."

Ghirahim's eyes widen, and the faintest glimmer of hope sparkles within their depths. "You… aren't… angry with me?" The demon's voice was barely above a whisper. He sounded so very, devastatingly young. Like a tiny child whose entire world cusped on whether or not they pleased their parents. It filled LInk with disbelief.

"Why would I be angry with you for getting hurt?" He asks before his brain can catch up with the situation.

"W-What?" Now Ghirahim looked disbelieving, as if LInk had just said something completely illogical and insane. "Are you not the least bit angry that I deliberately disobeyed you? Right in front of you, no less? Doesn't that bother you at all?" There was a shaky, hysterical edge to the demon's tone, as if his entire world were shattering around him and all he could do was watch.

Link realized he would have to choose his words very carefully. "You… didn't, though. I told you not to touch the sword, I never said anything about Fi."

"B-But…"

"She's part of the sword, yeah, but… I don't even fully understand how that works. I didn't know you touching her would have the same effect as the actual blade. At least, not for sure. A-And even though you should've waited when Fi told you to—" Ghirahim began to tense slightly at those words. "I'm not mad at you." And he was back to looking disbelieving.

"Really," Link insisted. "I'm upset that you got hurt, that's all."

"Why?" Link has to do a double take at that one word, whispered by his companion with shock and awe. "It was simply a consequence of my foolishness. For not listening."

"No, Ghirahim." Link stubbornly gets the words out, despite his vocal cords threatening to snap closed on him. "It's not your fault. It was just me, n-not telling you enough stuff again. And I'm really, really sorry about that."

Link's loftwing lets out a soft warble. It nuzzles into Ghirahim's side, and the boy melts into the contact. "You're truly not angry with me?"

"No," Link replies firmly, with no room for argument.

"A-And… I get to stay?"

The way that heart-wrenchingly hopeful question was worded made an alarm go off in the hero's mind. Before, link had pegged Ghirahim as the kind of person who would be selfish and entitled to whatever he got his hands on. But the other boy had said 'get to', as if the hero giving him a place to stay was a privilege, and not something he needed. "Yes," Link replies. "You can stay."

"Thank you." Ghirahim was now looking at Link with an expression of wonder and awe that he had never quite seen directed at him before, as if he were the second coming of Hylia herself. "Thank you so, so much. You won't regret this, I swear it."

Though the hero was certain his companion's gratitude was sincere, there was also something unsettling about all of this. As he climbed aboard his bird and helped Ghirahim up behind him, minding the injuries on his hand, the hylian's mind wandered back to something he'd briefly pondered several hours earlier.

Link was no expert in the matter by any means, but he still knew that amnesia couldn't possibly be the only cause of the demon's altered behavior. It certainly couldn't be the reason Ghirahim had barely slept, never ate, and had lived in that tiny building for who knows how long.

Not to mention the way he reacted whenever he made, or thought he made, a mistake, immediately believing Link would kick him off Skyloft. Amnesia couldn't be the only thing causing that. No. It had to come from the demon's past. Which meant…

As Link's crimson loftwing began flying them home and Ghirahim squished himself against his back, the hero had one persistent thought in his mind. I think I'm going to have some… words with Demise.