Prompts: Unhealthy coping mechanisms/ healed wrong/ "it's not my blood"

Summary: Ever since Wild had woken from the Shrine of Resurrection, he knew that there was something wrong about him. The more people he met the clearer this all became. He was different... and that was something he just had to live with. - or Wild reflects on himself in comparison to everyone and everything around him.

A/N: Day 6! Enjoy Wild being a sad bean.

From the very moment Wild first opened his eyes from his long nap in the shrine of resurrection he knew that something was wrong with him. With every step he took and with every person he met he was proven right.

He wasn't sure how to describe what was wrong or how he knew but it was something he was sure of.

He never brought it up with anyone else too ashamed of the truth, but everyone always seemed to realize there was something off about him.

He was sure that if he tried to explain it people like Zelda, Impa, Purah, the other Links, and several people he had come to known since awakening would try to argue that there was nothing wrong with him.

But he knew it was the truth; and it made sense, what gave him the right to come back from the dead without consequences.

Still, he knew all his friends would try pulling off his differences towards being from his amnesia- another thing that was a harsh reality, so he never shared his feelings on the matter.

The more he learned about other beings the more his wrongness was confirmed. He was sure that if he sat his friends down and explained everything, he had learned was abnormal about himself they'd have no choice but to believe him, but that was the thing he didn't want them to know.

In the end everyone already knew he was so different from everyone else; he didn't want to give people reasons to completely alienate him, so he did his best to hide his little quirks.

But like everything, all secrets came out eventually and the more he tried to hide, the more he would slip. He could never outrun the truth.

The first thing that everyone was always quick to learn was his amnesia. As much as he wished he could keep his cluelessness a secret it always came out fast. It was rather hard to hide, and he'd always have to explain before people thought he was completely nuts.

He didn't think anyone actually knew just how deep his memory loss ran- everyone knew it often left him dense in many situations, but he was almost positive no one knew it ran to the point where he had once not remembered how to walk or talk, stumbling around like a newborn fawn. Now of course he wasn't actually a baby- once he observed things he picked them up faster than any child could, but it still led to several awkward moments.

After several incidents of him not remembering basic facts, and seeing hearing the shocked laughter of the crowd, he became too embarrassed to ask questions.

What was worse than the amnesia was his habits. His habits always weirded others out and no matter how hard he tried to kill his instincts and fit in he was always deemed too wild. Frustratingly though he was Hylian, and therefore he didn't truly belong in the wild, but he couldn't push down his nature to fully seem Hylian either.

The more he tried to fit in somewhere the more obvious it was to him that the only place he belonged was the grave.

Being 'wild' was part his new instincts just as much as his Hylian ones, and the only way he knew how to live.

The two things didn't mix well. Annoyingly he'd often find himself forgetting well himself while exploring in nature. It was almost scary how much slipped his mind while he was trying to get a break and explore the open world. Never scary enough to stop him from listening to the call of the wild though.

He refused to explain to anyone, much in the fear to admit it to himself that the new memories he made every day almost felt lost at times and that went hand and hand with his desire to run free. It admittedly probably became rather obvious at times- there was only so many times you could forget your responsibilities without others realizing that something was up.

The next thing that proved to himself that he was different from everyone else was his scars.

Now don't get him wrong, he understood that everyone had scars and that in some cases they ran deep like his own, but that fact never kept him from feeling alienated because of his.

His scars ran deeper than the surface, thanks to the fatal injuries he sufficed, not even the shrine was enough to stop the ache that always flew through his veins in remembrance.

On some days the pain was something that could slip his mind, on others the pain was so bad that he wanted to curse Zelda for putting him in the shrine in the first place.

Either way the cursed pain never failed to remind him that at the end of the day he was a corpse that was stitched back together and that even after a hundred years a corpse couldn't become fully functional.

Which is why he never complained when it felt like his body was giving up on him.

He could never really fully feel his burnt side but on bad days the numbness would spread further throughout his body, causing him to stumble like a toddler still learning how to walk.

On the really bad days he would lose control over different parts of his body.

Sometimes he couldn't force an eye to open fully, other times it was an arm that didn't want to lift, and sometimes it outright felt like one of his lungs were giving up on him.

At this point he was an expert at how to hide such things- his favorite method being to hide under his trusty cloak.

Somehow though the other heroes always seemed to be able to catch onto his pain. On days where the pain was too much for him, they would conveniently take longer stops; and when he was ready to curl up in a ball of misery, they'd somehow end up setting up camp early for the night or even start travelling later in the morning. They'd let him sleep in for as long as they could allow him to.

Which was another one of his problems- sleep. Sleeping was hard on several factors.

One there was the fact that it seemed like after sleeping for a hundred years, sleep no longer liked to claim him. He could lay in bed for hours and not sleep a wink. Of course, whenever he did fall asleep, he only stayed that way for a few short hours at a time. After those few short hours he would remain thoroughly exhausted but lay wide awake.

The second thing that often kept him from sleeping was his deep fear of sleep. The harder he tried to force himself to sleep, the easier it seemed to be for the fear to flood his mind. Thoughts on what if he fell asleep and forgot everything again.

The more he thought on the manner the more painful the thoughts got- sleep in a sense was a time you're not aware, unable to remember what was happening besides the occasional dream. Which was way too close to losing his memories.

Honestly the more he compilated how sleep worked the worse sleep seemed. Thoughts of how going in and out of consciousness worked were downright terrifying, especially when it got him thinking on how making memories actually worked.

Because you were actively thinking and making memories every living second, but those thoughts and memories were also becoming things of the past just as quickly as he could think them, and they all slipped away just as quickly too.

It made his brain hurt to think about it, so he did his best to not let the thoughts continue, which was hard within itself.

The final thing that caused his lack of sleep was the constant nightmares he experienced.

Sometimes the nightmares were things he lived through, like dying or fighting Thunderblight Ganon. Sometimes they were things he simply dreamt up but other times he couldn't help but wonder if he was dreaming up memories he had yet to recover.

It was worse when the nightmares were filled with faces, that seemed almost vaguely familiar. Faces that he couldn't actually recall no matter how hard he tried.

So needless to say, sleep wasn't fun and was just another part of the many off things about the way he was.

There were several other things wrong with him, some he probably was yet to be made aware of, and no matter how many times he wished for things to be different, he knew there was no point in trying to fix him.

After all he wasn't the same as everyone else- he had spent a hundred years dead.

These wrong things about him were all consequences of dying, maybe even in some ways a divine punishment for failing. He could cry all he wanted about it but that wouldn't change his status as a living corpse.

And as much as a part deep inside of him wanted to cry out to the others to help him, to save him, what right did he have?

His sole purpose was to right his wrong. His body was no longer his, down to the very last drop of his blood and there was nothing that could change that.

A/N: So, what did you think?

Can you tell who was having trouble sleeping at the time she wrote this a few months ago? lol.

I absolutely loved writing this one and hope you guys enjoyed it all the same!