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The sensation of something not quite right woke Four in the early morning hours.
He lay still, analyzing, checking in with his senses, prodding with caution at the nebulous swirl of emotion and half-formed thoughts the colors turned into when they were together.
A spot of psychedelic color crawled across the blackness behind his eyelids, becoming a line even as he watched it.
Ah. No external threats, then. Just an internal problem.
He’d woken before the pain hit in full, only a vague hint of tightness behind the eyes to indicate what was to come, but Four had been through enough of these by now to recognize the first stages of an impending migraine.
He lay there a moment longer, eyes closed, struggling to think clearly enough to catalog what he’d need and trying to estimate how much time he had left to get it. Could he make it down to the inn’s kitchen and back? How far gone was his vision?
Cautiously, he opened his eyes.
He regretted it immediately. Wincing, Four shut them again. Even the murky light of early dawn filtering in through the inn’s grimy window felt like standing in the full bright of midday. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Four tried again.
The trailing line of color across his vision blotted out half the room in a wake of growing blindspots. Four tried to peer around them, searching for his bag. He didn’t think he’d make it to the kitchen half-blind like this, didn’t want to risk it in a strange city at an inn he didn’t know, but he could make do with his travel supplies.
He finally spotted his bag on the floor near the window. He tried to get up.
Something heavy weighed down his legs. Something else lay across his middle, further immobilizing him.
Four blinked. He lay back down. He peered at the dark lump across his legs, back over his shoulder at the owner of the arm thrown across his ribs.
It took a moment for his hazy mind to dredge up the reasoning behind those shapes being in a room with him, hauling at his thoughts until names rose up from the murky depths of memory like a boulder tied to the end of a rope.
Sky and Twilight.
Of course.
They’d shared a room. The inn wasn’t big enough - nor their pockets deep enough - for any of them to have private rooms on this trip. He hadn’t even had a private room when they stopped in his own era, Wind piling into his tiny childhood bed with him.
Sky and Twilight would help, if he asked. It would likely be harder to convince them not to.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the light as he tried to think, to decide what he wanted before either of them woke.
Four was one of his current party who’d been living this life since he was truly small, for whom the phrase “but you’re so young!” lost its shine long ago. As if the hand of fate took age into account when it scattered the bones of destiny. As if the reminder of his perceived youth was any help at all when it came to dealing with all he’d lost and gained and lost again.
Four saw the same knowledge in the others of them who started young, who’d done this more than once. Time, Legend, Wind, Hyrule: all of them knew what it was like to stare death in the eyes. To look on monsters and men all double or more their own size and know it was on no one but themselves to survive.
They knew. They knew they started young. It still happened, and what did such placations do but belittle their efforts to make the best of things?
Four took pride in what he did, what he accomplished. What he survived.
They were all of them good at surviving.
So Four didn’t think he could be blamed for not liking to feel useless or even simply less.
Still. As he watched that bright line spread and fill more and more of the dark space behind his closed eyes, he knew he’d not be a lick of help to the rest of them that day.
Sky made a better patient than caregiver. He tried, but he had an anxiety-inducing tendency to fret and overcompensate, as if he tried to imagine all the things he wanted when he was ill and applied random parts the moment he thought of them.
Twilight did better, provided he managed to throttle back the older sibling instincts that seemed to be his natural state of being. He spoke to Four like he valued his opinion.
Twilight was also currently Wolfie, if Four was interpreting the memory of the half-seen shape across his legs correctly. He’d been spending even more time than usual like that since meeting Shadow; something about him in that form drew Shadow like a moth to flame. His indistinct outline seemed a little more substantial after spending time with Twilight, so as jealous of Shadow’s company as Four was after being so recently reunited, seeing the marked improvement filled Four with the hope that perhaps Shadow could regain a form of true substance again one day.
He kept getting sidetracked. His bag. He needed his bag.
He tried to slip out from beneath his bunkmates, cracking his eyes open for just a moment before shutting them again, vision too far gone to make putting up with the light worth the effort.
The pressure in his head built as he sat up, the first hints of true pain throbbing into being behind his eyes.
“Four?” Sky woke as Four’s motion dislodged his arm, sleep thick in the blurry words. He’d usually not be awake for hours yet.
“Ssssorry,” Four said, slurring a little before he managed to force the word into proper form. Sometimes the right ones didn’t want to come when the migraines started.
Sky sat up too. His arm curled over Four’s back. “Nightmare?”
Four remembered too late that he’d meant to make up his mind about asking for help before either of them woke.
Sky always accepted help from Four on his own bad days with the same mild smile he gave everyone else. Never condescending, always like he truly appreciated it, considered Four an equal.
Four pressed back against his own pride.
He hummed a negative rather than risk shaking his head against the tension starting to curl up the back of his neck. “Headache. Nnnneed… my bag.”
“Headache?” Sky’s voice both sharpened and lowered in volume. “Bad one?”
“Yyyy-es.”
Wolfie’s nose nudged his hand, Twilight awake and expressing his own concern.
“Wolfie?” Sky sounded confused. They’d gone to sleep with Twilight, not the wolf, in the room. “Where did Twilight- nevermind. He must be using the toilet.” Sky made a nervous noise, fretting exactly as Four expected he would. He forgot or didn’t notice Four’s request for his bag, slipping around behind Four to get out of the bed. “What do you need?” he asked in a hushed, hurried voice. “Tea? Food? Would a potion help?”
“Tea,” Four agreed. “Bread?” He wasn’t hungry, but he’d do better later if he ate at least a little. It would help keep the nausea down.
“I can do that,” Sky said as if he were trying to convince himself. Four cracked his eyes open, just barely able to make out enough of the room around the visual aura to see Sky hopping on one foot as he pulled his shoes on, still in his sleeping clothes. “Gentle food. Like I want when my stomach’s upset. Right. Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Sky shut the door as softly as possible behind himself.
Four wanted very badly to sink down into the pillows and simply stop thinking for a while.
He shifted his feet, nudging his toes against Wolfie’s belly. “Bag, please.” Words came a little easier, now. The crawling lines of light faded towards bright and dark patches, the preliminary part of the migraine nearing its end.
Which meant the rest of it was about to follow. Sky might not make it back in time with that food after all.
Wolfie nudged his hand again. Four pushed him away. Wolfie huffed, but he stood. The bed bounced as he hopped down to the floor, paws hitting with a series of soft thumps. Then that strange not-sound as Twilight shifted back, and then rustling.
The dull pounding in his head increased, started to turn into a throb. Four’s mouth twisted on a grimace.
“What do you need out of here?” Twilight asked in his quietest voice. “Potion?”
“Please. And a wet rag.” Four rubbed around his eye sockets, over the back of his neck. The internal pressure faded under the press of his fingers, settled right back into place as soon as he drew them away.
The cool glass of a potion bottle brushed his hand. Four opened his eyes, blinking through the slowly fading visual aura to make sure he didn’t drop it.
Their shadows touched.
Twilight’s moved.
It shifted out of sync with the lighting around it, turning to something nebulous and undefined as it slipped across the bedcovers to Four’s side. Four felt the shiver across his magic, Shadow’s version of a hello as he settled back into place with a content little flex. Four saw him sign something, his shape far too indistinct in the diffuse lighting for Four to make out with his vision still returning.
“He’s worried,” Twilight interpreted.
Shadow made a gesture even Four’s spotty eyesight could tell was rude.
Twilight huffed, not quite a laugh. “He’s telling you to drink the damn potion and stay in bed today, which means he’s worried and he shouldn’t even try to deny it.”
Four grimaced. He did drink the entire potion, little good though it was likely to do, not worried about wasting it when they were in a town for the express purpose of resupplying. Then he lay back down because it was starting to feel like his own skull was contracting down around his brain. He covered his eyes with his arm to block out more of the light.
“I’m not going to be much use today,” Four said, embarrassed.
“That’s fine. The others will manage without us.”
Four scowled into the darkness provided by his arm.
The town boasted a weaponsmith that the innkeeper seemed to think had a fair degree of skill; Four had been excited to meet her. Bitter disappointment welled up at the knowledge that likely wouldn’t happen now, to say nothing of doing his part to contribute to the resupplying and information gathering that always happened on stops like these.
Twilight and Sky seemed similarly excited to explore the town, all of them chatting about what they wanted to do the next day as they settled into their rented room the night prior. Their group spent so much time wandering through wild areas on this particular quest that all of them tended to be excited at the change of pace when they reached civilization.
No need to keep anyone else trapped in here just because he was unwell.
“You two don’t need to stay. I don’t need a minder.”
“Four,” Twilight’s voice went wry. “If you think you’ll be able to tear Sky away from your side - especially after how much you’ve been helping him with his bad days lately - you’re not nearly as intelligent as I know you are.”
He had a point. Still. “That doesn’t take both of you.”
“And six people can manage just as well as seven around town. Once Sky’s back I’ll let Time know.” Twilight stated the last with an air of finality. “Here,” he added before Four could get too grumpy at him. “Put this on your eyes.”
Four took the cold compress with a sigh of relief, pressing it down against the contours of his own face to block out as much of the light as possible. The light levels in the room seemed more than simply brighter than Four knew they were, now. It felt like having a lantern shoved in front of his face after spending hours wandering through a pitch black cave, the kind of spearing pain that made him want to flinch and duck to get away.
The door thumped. Twilight got up to let Sky in, the two of them exchanging soft murmurs before Twilight’s heavier tread crossed the threshold and the door shut again. Something clattered down onto the room’s small table.
“Here, Four. We should let the tea steep for a few more minutes but I also brought some toast.”
Four’s stomach weaved at the thought of food, testy but not quite nauseous. At least not yet. Better to have something in it. He’d just have to take it slow.
“Thank you, Sky.”
It felt like a spike went through his skull when he tried to sit back up under his own power, a sudden piercing pressure behind his eyes that sent his stomach heaving in response. Four grimaced and fell still, propped halfway up on one elbow and head in his hand, holding the damp cloth in place against his eyes. The point of connection between his magic and Shadow’s twanged, the wordless reminder of Shadow’s presence a small comfort that Four appreciated.
Sky made a tutting noise. “May I help you?”
Four struggled again against his pride. But this was Sky. It felt silly to not let Sky help when Four had spent so much time holding Sky’s hair back as he threw up or with Sky’s head in his lap as he rode out nausea or cramping.
“Yes.”
Sky’s arms wormed under his knees and around his back. Four went lightheaded as the world dropped away, seizing up as the dizzy spinning set off a cascade of other unpleasantness. A spike drove into his skull. The washcloth fell away from his eyes as his arms went limp and his stomach heaved.
Four dropped his head to Sky’s shoulder and left it there, fighting back the nausea and the whimpers that wanted to claw up through his throat until Sky settled onto the bed with Four across his lap.
Damp seeped into his thigh from the fallen cold compress. Four moved it to the back of his neck, where he wouldn’t have to hold it. He shivered at the cool touch of wet cloth. Sky pulled a blanket over both their legs without comment.
The piece of toast Sky handed him had no appeal whatsoever now. Four nibbled at it, only managing a few small bites. The vice squeezing down on his brain sent strangling pulses through his entire skull, even the movement of slow and careful chewing contributing to the overall throb.
Twilight returned just as Four traded his barely-eaten toast back to Sky for a cup of the much more enticing tea. A whisper of air indicated movement, Sky’s arms shifting as he signed back in response to whatever Twilight just said.
“You can talk,” Four murmured, slow, dragging the words through his clogged brain with effort. “Sound’s less an issue for me than light. Just keep your voices down.”
Sky’s hold squeezed into a brief hug. Twilight sighed.
“The others will be fine without us for today. Sky and I are going to stay here and keep you company. Do you need anything else?”
Without the compress over them, the blackness behind his eye felt closer gray, the thin shield of his eyelids not enough to keep the early morning light from being painful.
“The window. It’s a little bright.”
Sky made a worried little breath of a noise. Twilight hummed, thoughtful. Four heard him approach the window, rustling. The room dimmed.
Sky shifted. Four went dizzy all over again as he reached for something and Four’s lax body moved with him. He bit his lip, riding it out until Sky returned them both to blessed stillness. Something light draped over Four’s head, further blocking out the light. Sky used it as an extension of his hugs often enough for Four to recognize his sailcloth, pulled over Four like a shroud.
“Better?”
Blackness more complete, the stabbing around his eyes receded. His head still pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a tight throbbing through which Four’s thoughts trickled like water doing its best to filter through a clogged pipe.
He hated feeling so slow.
“Better, yes. Thank you.”
The bed dipped, Twilight seating himself next to them at the headboard. He picked Four’s feet up and swung his own legs up under the blanket they shared, resettling Four’s across his lap.
Silence fell as they all sipped their tea.
Four thought again how they were stuck in here with him, sitting in a boring, dark room rather than getting ready to spend a pleasant day in the sunlight and bustle of town. Just like Grandpa falling behind on commissions and missing social gatherings to take care of Four after his adventure.
His stomach churned. “I’m sorry.”
Sky responded before Twilight did. He probably knew full well what Four was apologizing for. They’d been in the reverse of this situation often enough. “You don’t need to be. This is no different than when I have my sick days.”
“Of course it’s different. I’m the one who’s sick.”
Sky chuckled, breathy, as if trying to muffle himself for the sake of Four’s ears. Twilight’s amused rumble rolled under it.
The hush returned to the room, comfortable, but it had the weight of thoughtfulness to it. Twilight rubbed over Four’s ankle and calf through the blanket, a mindless massage born of restlessness and welcome distraction from the pulsing in his head. Sky finished his tea and looped both arms around Four, enveloping him in a loose hug.
He appreciated the attempts at comfort, but sitting upright, even resting against Sky as he was, made him so dizzy. Hot and cold flushed through him in turn, sweat from the pain giving way to chills and then back again.
“I think I want to lay back down,” Four mumbled into Sky’s shoulder.
They helped him back down on the bed between them, and even if the necessity of moving to get there sent a fresh spike through his skull and an answering swoop of nausea, being able to settle onto the pillows eased some of the tension out of his neck.
Sky went to re-wet the cold compress. Four pressed against his face, hoping the external pressure of his fingers would help distract from the squeezing sensation under his skin.
“Here,” Twilight murmured. “Let me.”
Twilight’s hands pressed with care against his face, moving up into his hair when Four made a noise of appreciation, in too much pain to be embarrassed.
Sky rejoined them, easing the cold compress back beneath Four’s neck so it wouldn’t get in Twilight’s way. Both he and Twilight seemed hesitant to speak about anything other than the absolute necessities, despite Four’s earlier reassurance.
The worst part about migraines, aside from the pain, was the sheer boredom of lying here thinking about all the things he could be doing. Any kind of conversation was an improvement, even if Four might not be able to think clearly enough to engage with his usual wit.
“You can talk,” Four said.
The mattress dipped as Sky shifted. “Anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”
“Don’t care.”
Twilight made a thoughtful noise. He sounded a little hesitant when he said, “Have you always gotten these headaches?”
“No. They started after my second adventure.” Whether a direct byproduct of the Four Sword or something he would have developed anyway as he grew older was difficult to tell.
Sky made a soft noise and an aborted twitch, evidently making the same connection and stopping himself from asking about it in company.
But Twilight’s hands also paused their soothing pressure against Four’s skull.
“You’ve had three adventures, present not included?”
“Yes?”
“And the headaches started before the most recent one?”
“...Yes?” Confusion further wrinkled the pain creases in Four’s brow. The tightened muscles just made the pain worse; Four made the conscious effort to relax again.
He felt Shadow shift and resettle, probably much more comfortable in the darkened room but unable to come out due to Sky’s presence, and had a slow bloom of inspiration as to the direction of Twilight’s careful prodding.
Twilight knew Four met Shadow on his latest adventure. He was trying to ask if the headaches were a side-effect of Four’s adventure just as Sky was, except he didn’t know about the Colors.
A mess of conflicting emotions sent a giddy swell through Four’s chest. Hilarity tried to burst from his mouth in a laugh barely bitten back, sudden understanding and appreciation for the careful, delicate dance Sky and Twilight were trying to weave with their different set of Four’s secrets and not knowing exactly how much the other was aware of.
Simultaneous anxiety set his hands tingling.
He’d clearly given something away to Twilight to tip him off that there was even more going on.
But he’d known that, hadn’t he? He’d barely tried to hide the gaps the Colors made in the story of how he and Shadow met, became friends, became more.
For a moment he considered just telling Twilight outright, here and now, about the Colors. Sky could corroborate the story since Four was in no shape to provide proof. Twilight already knew about being able to turn the size of the Minish and now Shadow and hadn’t told a single soul about either. At this point Four trusted Twilight enough that him knowing that last big secret sent only the vaguest shot of trepidation shivering down his spine.
But Shadow. Sky deserved better than to be kept in the dark when Four trusted him just as much as Twilight. Meeting the Colors barely phased him and he hadn’t treated Four any differently since, but Four knew full well what kinds of associations most of them had with shadows. Old paranoia reared its head.
He’d been quiet too long. “It’s alright, Four. You don’t have to answer.”
Four hummed, taking the out, not really wanting to speak any longer as the pulsing in his head reached blistering crescendo despite the potion and cold compress and careful press of Twilight’s fingers.
If he managed to fall back to sleep, it would be over faster.
Sky lay down at his side, cuddling close. He was probably quite tired as well, the hour still early.
Four kept thinking as Sky and Twilight started a hushed conversation of their own.
Did he trust Sky enough to hear Four out about Shadow? To put Shadow’s safety on the line?
He was starting to think that he did.
Regardless, it wasn’t wise to have either of those conversations while struggling to think around the hammering in his brain.
The thought was there, though. It was there and it stayed.
Only a few short months ago, the idea of any of his new companions knowing more of his secrets than absolutely necessary filled Four with panic. That he now gave serious contemplation to simply telling Sky and Twilight the things they don’t know…
Four curled around that warm glow of trust, pondering it with wonder.