Archive of Our Own

There was a ruckus happening outside of Time’s tent. 

Loud voices, all overlapping each other. Frantic footsteps. Hissed arguments, vicious in their secrecy, only to get cut off by even more vicious admonishments. 

Time, eyes closed, reached out and patted the ground next to him. He grabbed the first soft object he felt—an unwashed shirt, judging by the smell—and shoved it over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise. 

Amidst the chaos, one set of tentative footsteps approached the entrance to his tent. 

Don't do it, Time thought, attempting to send a telepathic signal to whoever was gearing themselves up to interrupt his nap. Don’t do it, don’t you dare—

“Hey, uh, hello?”

It was Legend’s voice. Of course they sent Legend to break his rest. Young enough to wheedle sympathy, but experienced enough to defend himself against his wrath should something go wrong. They chose well. 

“I know you're tired,” Legend said. 

Time grunted. 

“But—uh, how do I put this—” Legend cut himself off. He shuffled his feet. 

Time refused to look. He did not want to know what would cause the Hero of Legend to shuffle his feet. 

“So. Twilight thinks he's a dog.”

Fact the first: Twilight could turn into a wolf. This was only kind of a secret. Time knew, Wild knew, Four knew—or at least, he’d been very coincidental with the comments he made—but no one else did, because Twilight decided that having a legitimate excuse for his dog breath was worse than letting everyone else think that Ordon didn't practice dental hygiene. Frankly, Time didn't know what the deal was. He was pretty sure that him being able to physically become Goron on command was more problematic than having a magic wolf form. But Twilight insisted upon secrecy, so Time held his tongue. 

Fact the second: apparently, the wolf thing was “a really unfunny joke, like, zero out of ten, dude, try harder.”

Time, upon processing the eight voices yapping in his direction, reached up to rub his temples. “Why did you wake me up for this.” 

“We need a tie break,” Warriors said.

Time screwed his eyes shut even tighter. “A tie break.”

“A tie break.”

“A tie break?”

“A tie break.”

“A tie—”

“Say ‘tie break’ one more time, and I swear I'll smoke your corpse like a joint!” Wind roared.

Time shot Twilight a glare. What is happening. 

Twilight flailed his arms. I told them the truth!

Time frowned. Then why didn’t it work.

Heck if I know!

“Well, we have to settle this!” Hyrule slammed his fist into his palm like a gavel. He stood up, eyes blazing with the determination of a hero forged in flame, and stared them all down one-by-one. “Raise your hand if you think Twilight dog.”

“Twilight dog?” Legend asked.

Hyrule nodded. “Twilight dog.”

“Twilight dog.”

“Twilight dog—”

Wind picked up a heavy-looking stone with a sharp corner. 

“I support dog Twilight,” Wild announced, his hand shooting straight up. He shot a fuming Wind a smug smile, clearly pleased with his loophole. 

“I also support dog Twilight!” Twilight said, his voice cracking with the force of his insistence.

Legend rolled his eyes and opened his mouth—no doubt to say something snarky—but Hyrule scooped up a handful of earth and tossed it in his direction, causing Legend to drop to the ground, hacking out his lungs and spitting out dirt. Meanwhile, Sky raised his hand.

“Et tu?” Legend croaked, in between his coughs. 

“I don't know what that means,” Sky said, “but I think Twilight has dog energy.”

Warriors raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. “Evidence?” 

Sky paled and stiffened, pulling his hand out of the air to fiddle with the edge of his sailcloth. He mumbled something. 

Time frowned. “Sorry, I didn't quite catch that.”

Sky flushed and screwed his eyes shut. “I said, ‘he has dog breath.’”

Twilight spluttered. Warriors also spluttered, but for a different reason.

“Okay, so that’s four,” Hyrule said, raising four fingers on his left hand. “Team Dog: me, Wild, Twilight, and Sky.”

“I still don't think Twi gets a vote in this,” Warriors mumbled. 

“Shut up, Old Man Knockoff,” Hyrule said without missing a beat.

After reigning in his laughter, Time turned to Four and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m surprised that you’re not on Team Dog.”

Four crossed his arms, but his eyes lit up with mischievous glee. “Well, he’s obviously a catboy.”

Enraged by the (insult???), Wild surged up to his feet and summoned an electric arrow from his slate. Warriors shrieked—the arrow sparked and the lightning shocked his metal vambrace—but Hyrule was fast, and he kicked a small rock at Wild’s forehead, forcing the archer to sit back down and seethe in silence. 

“So who’s with me?” Four asked, spreading his hands. “Catboy Twilight?”

“I refuse to let that word cross my lips,” Legend announced, his voice still gravelly. “And let it be known that when I cast my vote, it is not in favor of whatever-the-hell-that-is, but merely against the concept of dog Twilight.”

“I agree with the Vet,” Warriors agreed. 

“The fuck is a ‘catboy?’” Wind asked. 

Before Four could open his mouth and answer the question, Time cleared his throat. The others straightened up and looked over. 

“Tie break?” Warriors signed. Despite everything, he still looked hopeful.

Too bad Time was out of hopes to give. “I abstain. This is a stupid discussion.”

“What?” Wild yelled, his eyes bugging out of his skull. “But Time, you know!”

“Four knows, too?” Time countered. 

Wild faltered. “Well, Four’s scary,” he said.

Four’s smile widened. “Heh. Thanks.”

“Wait, back up,” Legend said, narrowing his eyes. “What are you talking about? What is it that you know?”

Four looked at Wild. Wild looked at Time. Then, as one, they all turned to look at Twilight. 

The hero in question had gone perfectly still, his forehead shining with sweat. 

“Come, now,” Time said, making a vague ‘go ahead’ gesture. “You were going to tell everyone, right?”

Twilight swallowed, ninety-percent hesitation. But the ten percent that was left over was courage, and he nodded. Slowly, he rose to his feet. His knees were steady, but his hands were trembling. Beside him, Wild held out an encouraging thumbs up.

“I have something to confess,” Twilight admitted, his voice low. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and—

3 DAYS AGO

The second they were out of earshot, Wild whirled on Twilight, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and shook.

“How are you so bad at this?!”

“Thanks—for—the—save,” Twilight replied, his words coming out awkward due to the violent shaking. 

Wild finally let go of Twilight’s shirt, but he still had to wring his hands through his hair. He paced, back and forth, boots crunching against the hard dirt, and his eyes felt like they were going to bug out of his head. What was the point of secretly agreeing to keep a secret if the subject of said secret was bad at keeping the secret you were supposed to keep? “That was absolutely horrible. Have you ever lied before?!”

“I lie all the time,” Twilight protested.

“Clearly, you need more practice!” With an abrupt swivel, Wild ceased his pacing and jabbed a finger into Twilight’s chest. “If you want to keep your furry little secret—”

“I’m begging you to use different words.”

“—you're going to have to come up with a better excuse than ‘the goddess said I’ll explode if I’m in the same spot as Wolfie.’”

Twilight crossed his arms. “It’s a good excuse,” he insisted.

“It really isn’t!” Wild yelped. After a brief ten-second breakdown, he finally managed to inhale air. Once he had re-centered himself, he looked Twilight directly in the eye. “Listen. I’m an honest person.”

“…Okay?”

“I'm always honest,” Wild continued. “People ask me questions, I answer. I drink fair trade fairy tonics. I donate my wealth. I’m the most helpful person in Hyrule. I've got a reputation.” 

“And?”

“And that reputation is what lets me get away with lying!” Wild announced.

Twilight shot him a skeptical frown. “You just said you don't lie.”

“Twilight, what’s my favorite color?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly.” Wild pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. You want to keep a secret, right?”

Twilight shifted from foot to foot. “Well, yeah.”

“Then you need to dedicate yourself to it,” Wild told him. He slapped Twilight on the shoulder. “Frankly, I don't think you can pull off a straight-faced lie. You're way too open. But!” He pointed a bold finger at Twilight’s chest. “That's what’s gonna be your weapon.”

Twilight tilted his head, considering the words. “Then, what happens when I get to the actual lying part?”

“Well, you still need to keep it plausible,” Wild explained. “But if you don’t have a poker face—which you don’t—you should still be fine. You need to be so open and honest as a person that no one will ever think that you're hiding anything. Just don’t break down and confess at the first sign of trouble.”

“Huh,” Twilight mused. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“A good boy to the core, huh?” Wild laughed. “You’re exactly like Wolfie.”

“Excuse you, Wolfie is a lean, mean, killing machine—”

“Yeah, I know.” Wild grinned. “That’s why you let Wind play fetch with you the other day, right?”

“Shut up! He was sad, okay?”

But even with the banter, Wild could see that thoughtful look in Twilight’s eye. Good. He would need all the help he could get to hide his secrets, and Wild would much rather not be the only person dedicated to covering for him. With any luck, the lying lesson would sink in—and stick.

2 DAYS AGO

The next bright sunny day, when Four, Wild, and Twilight were out scouting a canyon, just the three of them, Wild abruptly opened his mouth and tossed a metaphorical bomb into the conversation. “Twilight’s a coward and Time is unknowable, so I guess it’s up to me to ask: do you know who Wolfie is?”

Twilight choked and stumbled. 

Four, meanwhile, slid his gaze away from the surrounding cliffs and glanced over at Wild. Somehow, the other teen managed to broadcast both suspicion and hope with the same expression. Wild’s face was always an open book. 

“Yeah,” Four replied. 

“Okay, cool.” Wild exhaled. A smile broke out and he ran a hand through his bangs in relief. “I thought I was just imagining things. Eight out of ten on that last wolf joke, by the way. You lose two points for laughing the whole time.”

“What the heck!” Twilight exclaimed, regaining control of his lungs. He turned and pointed at Four. “How did you figure it out?!”

“Is it supposed to be a secret?” Four asked. “It’s kind of obvious.”

“Yeah.” Wild twisted his mouth. “He’s kinda touchy about telling people. Past experience or something, I dunno.”

“I’m right here, you know!”

“If you’re trying to keep a secret, then why do you wear a wolf pelt all the time?”

Wild stopped in his tracks. “I,” he said, “have been haunted by that fact for weeks.”

“And I’ve told you, it’s because it’s comfortable—”

Wild and Twilight broke off into a heated debate. As they bickered with each other, Four let his mind wander, turning the ethics of the Twilight-Wolfie debate over to the brain council.

Question: was Twilight under an obligation to admit to his four-legged alter-ego?

No. Of course not. Everyone was entitled to their secrets. It would be very weird if they were all completely honest with each other. There were just some things that couldn’t be shared. Twilight had secrets, Legend had secrets—hell, even Wind was probably sitting on a secret or two.

Admittedly, the wolf thing was a little more magical than most secrets, but Four was a group project ran by four different people, and he could shrink to the size of a rat. Twilight’s furry little secret was tame in comparison.

Twilight, however, could not keep a secret to save his life.

It wasn’t the animalistic sense of hearing that gave it away (although that was part of it). And it wasn’t the dog breath, either (although that was part of it, too). 

What really convinced Four of Twilight’s wolf-status was the fact that Twilight did not have a poker face. Every time ‘Wolfie’ came up in conversation, he would twist his mouth in unease. He’d attempt to change the subject as quickly as possible, and, on the rare occasions someone baited him into the subject, the pitch of his voice would rise an octave and a half. 

“He’s bad at this, isn't he?” Four mused.

Wild nodded, wild-eyed. “Honestly,” he complained. “Why keep it a secret if you can’t keep it a secret?”

“Can you please drop it?!”

The bickering began anew.

We should help Twilight! said the helpful part of Four’s brain. 

Help him keep it a secret? 

No. We can help him in a different way. Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he eats for a lifetime. 

The Rancher already knows how to fish, smartass.

The fish is a metaphor dickwad!

“Are you good at keeping secrets, Champion?” Four asked, coalescing into the present moment. 

Wild shrugged, turning away from Twilight and back to Four. “Depends on the secret,” he admitted. “I try not to keep too many, though. It's hard to keep track of things.”

Four hummed: not ignoring Wild’s answer, but not responding to it, either. 

“How about you? Are you good at keeping secrets?”

The corner of Four’s mouth twitched. He curled his lips upward, but he would hesitate to call it a grin. “I guess you could say I’m alright.”

At the admission, Twilight narrowed his eyes. After a moment, he gathered up his courage and spoke. “Do you have any advice?”

“Layers,” Four replied, without hesitation. “Hide the big secret with another secret. That way, if anyone goes digging, they stop at the first layer.”

Both Twilight and Wild stared at him.

“Well, think of it this way,” Four said. “Say that I’m having an off-day. Hyrule walks up and asks me if something’s wrong. But I’m not in the mood to talk, so I try and shoo him away. With me so far?”

“Yep,” Wild chirped.

“But Hyrule is stubborn.”

“So incredibly stubborn,” Twilight muttered.

“He keeps pushing. I tell him that I’m feeling homesick, but I didn’t want to bother anyone with it. Which is true. I do miss home, and I don’t want to bother anyone with it.”

Twilight nodded, all sympathetic camaraderie.

“So he’s satisfied with that, and goes off to plan some silly scheme to cheer me up,” Four continued. “But that was just the first secret. The second secret is that I’m actually composed of four different people, and they were arguing, so I was kind of distracted and unable to contribute to the conversation properly.”

Wild spluttered. “What?”

“Right?” Four spread his hands. “No one would ever see that coming. A secret hidden behind another secret.”

“I mean, I guess that makes sense,” Twilight conceded. “But that’s gotta be the weirdest hypothetical I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks,” Four said. “Another strategy for keeping a secret is stating the truth so boldly that it sounds like a lie.”

Wild nodded. “So you’re saying: you really are homesick, and we should cheer you up about it.”

Four laughed and grinned at Wild with genuine fondness. “Yep. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

1 DAY AGO

Somebody knocked on the door. Time resisted the urge to scream, and was successful. He had a lot of practice resisting his urges, though to be fair, a lot of his urges included murderous intent.

“I’m here!” Time said.

“Oh, hey, Time!” Twilight said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door. “I was looking for you! Are you by yourself?”

“... Twilight, I’m using the restroom.”

“So… that’s a yes, then?”

Time imagined banging his head on the wall of the outhouse. No, not violent enough. Time imagined setting off a bomb and blowing himself up. “Yes, Twilight,” he said, radiating insincere patience. “I am using the restroom by myself.”

“Okay, great!”

Silence.

“…Did you need anything?” Time prompted, after hearing the sound of Twilight not walking away.

“Oh! Uh, I just wanted to let you know something.”

“Something.”

“Something important.”

“Can it wait until I’m out of the outhouse?”

“...”

Time held back a groan. Even though he couldn’t see Twilight, he could picture him in his imagination: an awkward young man, worrying away at his lower lip, his face scrunched up as he tried to talk himself into confession. “Twilight—”

“I’m gonna tell everyone about the dog thing.”

Time blinked. “Oh. Okay.” No clue what brought that on, but if Twilight decided he was ready, Time wasn’t going to stop him.

Outside the outhouse, someone shifted their weight from foot to foot.

“Is that all?”

“Uh, yeah! Yep! That’s all I wanted to say!”

“Great. I support you. Good luck.”

“…”

“Twilight, I’m trying to use the restroom in peace.”

“Right, uh, my bad! Sorry! It’s just—yeah, uh, sorry, I just wanted to—”

“Please leave.”

“I’m going, I’m going!”

TODAY

“—I’m Wolfie,” Twilight finished his statement.

The words hung in the air, ringing heavy with the weight of true, vulnerable honesty. No one moved. No one even breathed.  

“I’m sorry I kept it a secret,” Twilight said. He ducked his head, staring at the dirt, and tugged on his sleeves. “It’s just—I’ve had some bad experiences in the past. So I was hesitant to say anything, but after getting to know everyone, I think that—”

“Wait, you’re wolfkin?” Warriors asked.

Twilight’s head snapped up, and he stared at Warriors with horror. “What the— no!”

“How else am I supposed to interpret that statement?”

“Are there other interpretations?!” Twilight cried out. He wrung his hands through his hair. “I’m saying that Wolfie and I are the same person!”

“Oh, big mood,” Sky said. “Sometimes I see Wolfie napping by the fire, and I think, yeah, that’s me.”

“Same!” Hyrule said. “When he stretches, it makes me want to stretch, too.”

“Or when he’s barking at nothing,” Wind added. “You know when you have to scream for no reason? It’s like that.”

Time winced. He didn’t know it was possible to fail a conversation so badly.

“I’m literally Wolfie!” Twilight insisted. He started digging around his person, searching for his artifact. Finally, he pulled it out and squared his shoulders. “Here! I’ll prove it!”

“Ha, are you gonna bark like a —sweet Hylia, you were telling the truth?!”

Some hours later, Time found a lonely Twilight sitting cross-legged by a creek, tossing little stones into the shallow water. It was late evening, with a cool breeze—peaceful, quiet—and the only sounds were that of the nature around them. There was a convenient rock to sit on, and Time claimed it. For a moment, they sat there, drinking in the moment. But moments couldn’t last forever, and Time had come for a reason.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said.

Twilight cringed. But he eventually tilted his head and conceded the point. “I guess not,” he admitted. “At least, after the initial chaos.”

Time hid a smile. Give it a few days, and Twilight would hopefully be able to laugh about it, too—once he was over the embarrassment.

“I’m glad you opened up,” Time told him. “You aren’t meant for keeping secrets.”

Twilight looked at him through the corners of his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Time said—bluntly, but not unkind. “And you’re a honest soul, I think. I could tell that something was eating away at you this entire time.”

Twilight swallowed. “You could?”

Time thought of how Twilight jumpy could be, of how he was always watching over the others. He thought of the way Twilight stared at him when he thought that Time wasn’t paying attention: like he was seeing a ghost.

Time placed a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. “I’m glad you finally got your secret off your chest.”

“Ha, ha.” Twilight grinned and shook off Time’s hand, his smile just a tad too wide. “Yep. That’s it! That’s the secret.”

Time raised an eyebrow. “You’re sounding a little suspicious there.”

Twilight shrugged. “Maybe I know exactly how and where you die.”

Time blinked. “I—what?”

A pause.

Twilight barked out a sharp laugh, stabbing through tension. “Ha! You should see your face,” he teased, his voice cracking. 

Time huffed and grinned back. “You almost got me, there.”

“I doubt it.” Twilight looked out at the creek and exhaled through his nose, and his whole body settled back down into something resembling acceptance. “You know me. I’m an open book.”

“That you are,” Time agreed. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. It landed with a satisfying splash, and they watched as it rolled away with the current, never to be seen again.