Work Text:
Wild was breathing evenly, in and out.
In.
His eyes were shut. It probably didn’t help him all that much, as it just made him focus on his other senses more. But he couldn’t help it. What would he even look at if he opened his eyes? Wind, who was shamelessly sniffling? Time or Warriors, whose face had turned to stone when they had realized what was going to happen? Goddess forbid, Twilight, whose look of agony would have been enough to nearly make Wild himself cry at the best of times? The wall? No, he’ll keep his eyes shut, thank you very much.
Out.
He was cold. His tunic was in shreds on the floor around him, he was sure. He vaguely hoped that when they got out of here, (When, not if. He was sure Legend was already halfway through a plan to get them all out of this horrible place. Or at least Wild hoped so.) they would be able to stitch it back together, or Zelda was going to kill him.
In.
He was sure he looked like a mess. Honestly, he was sort of glad he was the one they had taken, just so he didn’t have to witness any of the others in the same state. It was probably selfish of him to think that, but given the circumstance, Wild figured he deserved to be a little selfish.
Out.
His arms were stiff, and honestly, his muscles were starting to hurt. In the grand scheme of things, he would probably say that was the least of his worries. A little arm pain never killed anyone, after all. But it was easier to focus on than any other pain he was in.
In.
He wasn’t really listening to the talking going on around him. Not the sadistic, unfamiliar voices, nor the more familiar ones, raised in anger. He could hear what they were saying, but chose to not really register the words. “he’s obviously not going to give you the information you want you’re not going to get anything from him shut up do you want us to switch him out for one of you what about the kid there that’s what I thought now shut your mouth or I’ll make it worse for him”
Out.
Pain. It radiated from his shoulders, and he couldn’t ignore it. He sucked in a sharp breath, interrupting his steady breathing. “Well at least we know he’s not dead I was getting worried we’d broken the little bitch”
In. In. Slowly. Now, Ou-
Another sharp sting of pain. On his scalp this time. His hair had been yanked, his head pulled back. His entire body twitched reflexively at the feeling. He hated people touching his hair without permission. He loved his hair. He loved that it was so long. It was a point of pride for him, and it was something that physically reminded him that he wasn’t the man he was from before the Calamity, if he ever needed that reminder. He was very picky about who he let touch his hair. Really, only Zelda and his brothers were allowed to touch. The spark of anger he felt at someone who wasn't them touching his hair made him tense. He knew it couldn't be his brothers. They never tugged. Not like that. Not even when they had to pull sticks and leaves out of his hair.
His anger forced him back into his body, which he immediately regretted. Son of a bitch, he was in a lot of pain.
Out. Out. Don’t panic, don’t thrash. That’ll make it worse.
He didn’t like them touching his hair. He hated it. He wanted it to stop. Stop, stop, please stop it . He didn’t even realize he was breathing the words aloud until he was interrupted by a loud voice right by his ear.
In.
“Well, that certainly got a reaction out of him! Haha! He’s not going to be of any use. But you know, you could stop this at any time! All you have to do is give me the information I want.” The voice wasn’t addressing him, he was sure. He couldn’t muster up the mental energy to figure out what information it wanted. It must be talking to the others. Silence was the only answer the voice got.
Out.
“Oh, well, I guess I’ll just go back to making the little bitch beg, then. Maybe I can even get him to ask you for the information! Let's see… He sure did react when I pulled his hair! Why does he keep it so long anyways? How about a haircut?” There was an insane little giggle from the voice.
“No!” Wild startled even himself with the force and volume of his plea. Tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes now. He felt like he could handle the pain, and he could. He knew how to forget his pain, how to ignore his injuries and keep going on regardless of them. Injuries could be healed, wounds could be stitched up. But hair took so long to grow back.
“Well, I guess I figured out a way to make you talk, then!”
Shit. There would be no wriggling out of this one. He had laid his cards down on the table for his opponent to see, hadn’t he? His head was pulled back further, unfamiliar hands feeling up his scalp. He shuddered, making his body swing in his chains. His concentration on his breathing was well and truly ruined, and he was breathing too heavily and too fast.
There was still only silence.
A thought flickered across his mind. Were they even still there at all? Had they left him? He didn’t know if he could handle this if his brothers weren’t there. He needed them. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes.
They were still there. Wild wanted to cry in relief. He wanted to hug each one of his brothers, and never let go. He wanted to sleep for a hundred years. He wanted to leave this place.
His glazed-over eyes flickered from one face to another. Twilight’s face had shifted from anguish to a deep-rooted, snarling anger. Warriors’ face was just as stoney as before, with Legend sporting a similar look. Time had let his face fall to the ground, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Wild. Four was the same, face twisted away, so he wouldn’t have to look, but the pair's ears twitched at every ragged breath, every whimper, every wheeze. Hyrule’s eyes were desperately flickering over Wild’s form, no doubt cataloging all of Wild’s injuries. Wind was still crying, openly now, face a mess of tears. The rest looked on with horrified expressions on their faces, expressions that were no doubt reflected back at them from Wild.
The man was carding his fingers through Wild’s hair now, mocking him, Wild was sure. If Wild shut his eyes, he could almost imagine that it was one of his brothers fussing over his messy hair. Almost, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
“It’s strange that you're so attached to your hair. I honestly wouldn’t take you to be the vain type, especially not with those scars. Not exactly pretty, are you?” The man mocked, dragging a knife (where had that come from?) across the back of his neck. He could see several of the others tense from across the room at the close proximity of the weapon to Wild’s vulnerable throat.
The man just laughed, and grabbed a fist full of Wild’s hair, taking the knife to it with great prejudice. Wild couldn’t contain his whimper when he felt the first chunk come out.
In contrast to the hand’s gentle movements carding through his hair moments before, the sawing of a knife through his hair was harsh. It yanked on his head, and then stopped when the knife finally cut through each chunk. Wild could tell that when the man finished, his hair would barely fall past his ears. As each section of hair was cut, it scattered across the floor, creating a pool of the long golden locks around him.
The man was purposefully cutting the chunks to different lengths, so the resulting product would be choppy and uneven. It would probably have to be cut even more to make it look presentable.
If he was in his right mind, Wild probably wouldn’t be taking it this hard.
But it was so much easier to focus on the emotional pain of losing his hair than the physical pain that the hours of torture had brought him.