A/N: TW: blood, self-deprecating thoughts, anxiety attacks, and Link thinks Ghirie is dead even though he isn't.

The Sealed Grounds.

Link did not want to go there. He never wanted to go there again, but he knew in his gut this was where he'd find Ghirahim. Where else would he have ended up than here?

And find him, he did.

Link didn't know what he was expecting when he encountered the demon again; well, he wasn't expecting to meet him again, ever. Why would he, after all the damage that had been done to him? Yet here he was, lying on the ground before him, and it was worse than the hylian ever could have imagined in his most horrific nightmares.

Ghirahim had returned to the form in which Link had first met him, though he was still completely naked. He lies motionless in an undignified heap, limbs twisted in painful looking positions. But that wasn't nearly the most concerning part about this.

The boy was covered in black blood, large blotches of it that contrasted far too much with his skin, that had become a sickly pale gray, rather than its usual silvery undertone. His hair was absolutely saturated with the stuff, especially his bangs, which flopped over his face like an old mop that had never once been washed after use.

Link's heart sank all the way down to his toes as he stared, unable to look away. Ghirahim barely looked like himself anymore. He looked so very small like this, so broken. It was difficult to imagine that he ever could have posed an ounce of a threat in the past.

Was he too late, after all?

Link continued to stand there and stare, but he wasn't actually seeing what was in front of him anymore. Instead, his mind was pulling him back to what was probably the most nightmarish thing he had witnessed in his life.

Demise, clenching his scaly fist, smirking with twisted pleasure as he blatantly tortured the one who had worked so tirelessly to help him.

And Link had done nothing.

He had just stood there, frozen in terror as Demise hurt the one who had been so completely and emphatically loyal to him, who had seemed genuinely happy to see him returned.

Link was meant to be the hero, the one who helps others and gives them hope. Yes, Ghirahim had done things that were unquestionably wrong, and not all of it could be blamed on his master, but he hadn't deserved that. LInk didn't believe so, anyway. And now, because he hadn't acted when he should have, Ghirahim was dead. He had died alone, slowly and painfully if Camolla's account was anything to go by, and no one would mourn him. Nobody would care, nobody except for link. And possibly Camolla, though she had never even properly met him. Oh, what is he going to tell her?

Link began to feel a distinct, swimmy feeling slowly making its presence known in the back of his mind. As the memories continued to plague him. He tried to fight it, but he was sinking fast. He felt so helpless and small, but most of all, he felt alone.

He'd lost everyone that he'd ever been close to, and his role as the chosen hero put a wall between himself and everyone else. Zelda had just been using him, he missed when it had felt real. Fi had been sealed into eternal slumber, trapped with the one who had hurt them all so much, to boot. Never again would she give him guidance. . And Ghirahim. They hadn't been friends, not even close. But his loss still hurt, all the same. Even though he had won, Link felt like such a failure.

He just wanted everything to be okay again. He wanted someone to hold him. To run their fingers through his hair and whisper soothing words into his ear. The loneliness, the guilt, the frustration… it felt like it was killing him inside.

Something snapped LInk's attention abruptly back to reality, and he gasped, shaking his head to try to get his bearings. He sniffed and wiped at eyes, when had he started crying? Then he tried to figure out what had happened.

Nothing seemed to have changed at first glance; Ghirahim still looked just as lifeless as ever. But then, he heard it again.

It was very faint, barely audible. He had to strain his ears to hear it. But he definitely heard it.

A breath.

A very shallow, labored and rattling breath, but a breath nonetheless. It was an ugly sound, yet it was the best thing Link had heard in a long while.

Link began moving. He wasn't sure what exactly he planned to do when he reached the demon's fallen form, but whatever it had been got stopped right in its tracks by what came next.

With a jolt, Ghirahim's head turned towards LInk's general direction, body slightly twisting from stomach to side. He curled his lip, bared his surprisingly small fangs and let out a sudden, sharp hiss at the quickly approaching hylian. The noise was downright feral, and surprisingly fierce given the demon's state, but really, Link should know better than to underestimate Ghirahim's determination by now.

His stringy bangs had fallen away from his eye. And the look in his eyes, it was something that Link had never seen there before. Or if he had, it was far more subtle. It was a look of pure, unadulterated fear.

And his face, it seemed wet and blotchy, with more than just blood.

Ghirahim then curls in onto himself further, sluggishly wrapping his body around his injured chest, defending his vulnerable spot with all of his remaining strength. He was staring in Link's direction, but he seemed unfocused. More like he was looking right through the hylian, and not quite at him.

Link didn't like to think about it, especially not now, but there was a time not so long ago, that he had craved a moment like this. To wipe that confident smirk off the self-proclaimed demon lord's face. Make him pay for what he had done. He'd never felt that sort of vindictive rage towards another being before that moment, and it scared him to think that it might have guided him towards this outcome without him meaning for it to. There was certainly no joy in seeing Ghirahim like this now, that was for sure.

Link didn't know what to do. He hated this feeling, hated not having anyone to go to for guidance and support on this matter.

But he was on his own this time. He would simply have to do what he could, and hope with all his might that it'd be enough.

Raising his hands in an appeasing gesture, (though Ghirahim might be too out of it to recognize that at the moment), Link approached again, slowly this time. The demon tensed for a moment, but only a moment. The fight seemed to be draining out of him quickly, and the look of instinctual terror began to fade into one of dull resignation as he slumps onto the ground again. And then even further.

With a sharp breath out that seemed to rattle harshly in the demon's throat, his entire form seemed to collapse in upon itself, and in its place, in a pool of demon blood, lies a very familiar sword.

Link knelt over it cautiously, careful not to touch any of the blood that sizzled and steamed on the ground. The dark blade, once so dark and menacing, now looked like it was about to fall apart at the slightest touch. The gem in the hilt had been badly cracked, and its glow was dim and slightly flickering.

This could not be a good sign.

What am I going to do? Link didn't know the first thing about repairing swords, much less magical ones. He was pretty sure Eagus did a class on weapon maintenance at some point, but he doubted that this was anywhere in the curriculum.

But just standing here and panicking wasn't going to help, so he let his instincts guide him and reached out for the hilt.

As soon as he grasped the dried out and cracked feeling leather, he immediately felt the tingle of a presence in the corner of his mind. It was not unlike Fi's before they had properly bonded, but also obviously not her.

The presence felt, in a word, tired. Beaten down by centuries of violence and hardship, numb, but in a way that was somehow even more painful.

Then he spoke. It was definitely still Ghirahim, though his voice had never sounded so worn down and exhausted. "I can never get away from you for long, can I?"