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It wasn't anybody's fault. Except maybe Four’s. His internal sense of balance had failed to correct quickly enough when Warriors had hit him—helping to train him in some new combat techniques—so when Four fell, he fell hard. He remembers his elbow colliding with the ground, and then his head hitting one of the railings.
The impact had jostled some connections in his head. Not permanently, but enough that Four now sits miserably on his bed in the dark, too uncoordinated to even sit up. Every time he tries, his arms flail about like he’s some beached jellyfish. He sighs loudly into the empty room, but the action brings him no relief.
He's working on it. He has a bit of control over what goes on inside of him, and he knows exactly what connections got snapped and how to fix them. It's just taking time. That’s always the worst part.
The time grates on Four as he reviews his list of things to do once he gets up—reviewing is all he can do right now, since the hit to his head had also messed with his memory banks. It isn't anything he can't replace, but it does mean that he can't even read right now. He doesn't have any books or essays left.
He just has to sit here. Unmoving. Quiet. Bored. All his sensors overfiring just enough to be annoying.
Hyrule called it a “robocussion.” Four thinks he'll appreciate that better when he isn't in the middle of it.