//------------------------------//
// Chapter 38 - Regression 
// Story: Sensation (SFW Version) 
// by Vivid Syntax 
//------------------------------//

Everything spilled out of me in a jumbled mess. "Braeb– M-my head," I gasped. "I c-can't–" 

Braeburn, steady and still, held me close. "It's alright, it's alright, Big Blue. Let's get a little more comfortable." We moved to the couch – he was careful to never let go of me – where he stroked my wings as I choked on my words. He lay down on his back, and I rested my head on his fuzzy chest. He still smelled like an orchard. He was starting to smell like me, too. 

Braeburn said, barely above a whisper, "Now, you got your big, strong earth pony holdin' you, and I'll be damned if I let you down, so let it all out." His voice had a slight rush, and I caught him searching my face, but he kept calm for me. He pressed my body into his, because he didn't want me to feel alone even for a second. That little bit of contact is the only thing that kept me from falling apart even more.

I tried to speak, but instead, I just shivered.

Braeburn stroked my wings and held me tightly with one foreleg. Gently, he cooed into my ear, "It's okay, Soarin'. I'm right here. Take all the time you need." His chest rose and fell slowly, and my heartbeat slowed to match the soothing thump-thump in his chest. 'It's so strong…'

"I… I-I can't…" I cried into him again, but he waited. "I don't want to tell you."

Braeburn kissed my ear. "Why not? Big Blue, if it's about me, then it's best to speak the truth. No good ever comes from keepin' your complaints inside."

"It's… It's not you." I sniffled and wiped my face with a fetlock. "But Applebutt, you're gonna blame yourself."

His chest rumbled. "Heh heh. I'll blame whoever I damn well please, but that shouldn't stop you, Blue. If I screwed up, I'll make it right. That ain't your burden, though, so let me shoulder it."

I looked into his eyes again, and a soothing coolness worked through me. His eyes sparkled with compassion and love and concern, and he didn't show fear. He was going to be my big, strong earth pony, the coltfriend I needed. He wasn't going to abandon me. "I love you, Braeburn."

He craned his neck down and kissed my lips, long and soft and slow. It was warm. No tongue, but a little suction, enough that I could feel both his gentleness and his strength. He drew back. "Love you, too, Soarin'. So tell me. Don't hold back." 

I rested my head on his chest again and just smelled him. I lost myself on that scent, focused on it, and over the next half an hour, I managed to tell him everything.

And Braeburn tried. Please don't think badly of him. He tried not to flinch, but we were too close for me not to notice. Not just physically. I knew him too well not to feel his breathing get heavier, his stroking get more erratic, and his heartrate increase. But he tried, and he listened, and he gave me all the time I needed, right until I finished and he said, "That's… I… I'm so sorry, Big Blue. I'm sorry…" He squeezed me again. We held on like that until we'd settled down, and the room fell still.

Several minutes passed, all in the quiet. His fur was still just the tiniest bit wet, and the condo felt huge and empty.

Braeburn chuckled sarcastically. "Picked a hell of a day to quit drinkin'."

He could always make me smile. "Heh. No kidding." I knew he was just joking. He had to be joking.

Braeburn patted my side and kissed my forehead. "I ain't no barkeep, but I bet I could throw somethin' together for us. Heh." He squeezed me again. "If your teammates left us anythin' last night, that is."

I felt fuzzy and numb. And heavy. I assumed I'd misheard him, so I lifted my head, blinked a couple times, and swiveled my ears toward him. "What?"

"Just a little pick-me-up." He smiled warmly, like nothing was wrong. "Get us through the day. Celestia knows we both need it."

My jaw slowly opened and hung there. 'He's serious.'

Braeburn looked towards the kitchen. "I think Chill left his gin. Might be able to mix somethin'–"

"Please don't," I said with quiet firmness.

He ran a hoof through my mane. "Aw, don't worry, Soarin'. It'll make us feel better."

I frowned and shook my head, away from his hoof. I wanted to say more, but I couldn't manage anything besides, "No, it won't. Why–"

"Yes, it will," he said more stiffly. "It's just a drink, Big Blue. It ain't gonna hurt."

I furrowed my brows. "You told me you wanted to quit. Last night."

He snorted. "Soarin', be reasonable. There's been nothin' but bad news today." He sneered and let go of me to gesture widely with a hoof. "You can't expect me to quit cold turkey after hearin' how I damn near killed you!"

The back of my neck prickled, and I sat up. "Dude! I told you you'd blame yourself! It's not your fault!" I swallowed hard. "You're not a doctor. You didn't know. You did your best."

"And my best wasn't good enough!" He teared up a little. "Soarin', please. I just need somethin' small – one drink – just to clear my head. Promise."

I wanted to be angry and shout more about how I'd been right, but Braeburn needed me, and that was so much more powerful than my ego. I took a deep breath, lay back down on him, and hugged him tightly. "You said you wanted help. I'm not letting you down."

Braeburn squirmed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, Celes– I was drunk, Soarin'! You can't take what I said so seriously!"

A sudden memory flashed into my head. My whole body drooped, especially my face. "But–"

He glowered. "But what?"

I looked up at him. I knew I was about to hurt him, but I couldn't help it. "You also said you wouldn't leave me over a few trees."

Braeburn started to snarl, but then his eyebrows raised, and he gasped and covered his mouth with a hoof. "Oh m– Oh, sweet Celestia! I-I'm sorry, Big Blue! I-I… dammit! I didn't mean that!"

"Didn't mean what?" I sniped.

He held me again, but I didn't melt into him like I should have. "Oh, dammit. I'm sorry, Big Blue. Fuck me…" He squeezed tighter. "Ugh, dammit. Here you're sufferin', and you need me to be strong, and I'm…" His voice got quiet. "And I went and made it all about myself. I don't deserve you, Big Blue."

Braeburn was sad. He still needed me.

I hugged him back. "We need each other, Applebutt."

He paused, and his grip loosened, and his voice became quieter. "You're right, you sexy bastard." He looked out towards the kitchen. "I shouldn't have said any of that. This whole week, I've been thinkin' about what I'm missin' back home, but that's not where my head should be. Life ain't just about reasons to leave. It's about findin' a reason to stay, and you're worth a hell of a lot more than a whole orchard of trees." 

The tension began melting away, and I cuddled into him. "Heh. Even an orchard you grew yourself?"

"Even more than that." He lifted my head to face him. "I mean it, Big Blue, and I'm stickin' by you. You're the best coltfriend I've ever had, and Bronze sure never told me to take it easy on the sauce. Hell, nopony in town did, even when they saw how bad it was. All they did was gossip and spread rumors about what a mess I was. You're special, and I'm sayin' it now, sober as the day I was born: I'm stickin' by you."

Even as awful as I felt, something inside me sparked. "Promise?"

He rubbed his face against mine and whispered into my ear, "Promise."

And I believed him.



Art by SoarandBurn, used with permission 


We took the rest of the day off. Braeburn cooked, I cleaned and did some laundry, and we both tried to pretend everything was normal. Braeburn didn't even read the paper when we he had free time. He just touched up the paint on the furniture instead, even though it didn't need it. He even let me do all the grunt work for dinner so I wouldn't have to look at a recipe, and in the evening, we took a long walk around the Estates, hardly talking but standing close together to share body heat. We went to bed early and spent a long time just talking about stories from when we were kids. Happy stories. For the first day since we'd arrived, we didn't have sex, but honestly, I didn't miss it that much. I had my coltfriend, and he had me. We spent hours just cuddling, and Braeburn massaged my head, like he was trying to fix my brain himself, and I fell asleep wrapped up in his forelegs.

In the morning, we took things slowly, and we even slept in. Yeah, Braeburn, too. Maybe he was catching up after the party, or maybe he'd been up all night worrying about me.

After breakfast, Braeburn noticed how quickly I was stuffing random insurance papers into a saddlebag and walking towards the door. He met me in the hallway and said, "I'm goin' with you, Soarin'. Don't bother fightin' me over it."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know." There was a knock on the door. I answered it, and there, grimacing, was Fire Streak.

Standing next to Spitfire.

She wore her full uniform, including her sunglasses, and spoke down to me. "You're running late. Appointment's in twenty minutes."

I shrunk. Seeing your superior when you know you've failed them, even a little, does that. "Streak told you?"

"Eventually." Even behind her glasses, I could see her eyes flick towards Streak. "The safety of our fliers and our fans needs to be our top priority." Her voice was stiff and to-the-point, and she stood rigidly. "We'll escort you there, and I'll read the full report from Doctor Hope personally."

I glared at Fire Streak, but he maintained his composure. "We're doing this because we care, Soarin'."

'You could try showing it a little more,' I thought. If they wanted to play rough, though… "I know. Thanks, Streak. Thanks, Shitfire."

Spitfire ripped her sunglasses off her face and ground her teeth. "What was that, Windsong?"

Streak stifled a snicker, and Braeburn openly laughed behind me.

I cocked my head to the side. "What? Did I say something wrong, Captain Shit Flier?" I theatrically slapped my hooves to my cheeks. "Oh no! It's affecting my speech!"

She let out a breath and sneered. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips to one side of her mouth. "Very funny, Windsong."

I spoke in an exaggerated tone, flared out my wings, and turned up my nose. "There's nothing funny about my condition, Tits Higher. This has been very hard on us."

"I can tell," she mumbled, half-giggling. "Let's go, before we're late." As she turned away with Streak, she said over her shoulder, "And I'm glad you're okay."

My heart warmed, and I saluted. "Thanks, Cli–"

Spitfire shot a glare at me that stopped me cold, and when she caught Streak snickering, she stuffed a hoof in his mouth. "You're fired."

They'd brought us a sky cab. As we got in, an awkward silence hung in the air. My jokes didn't seem funny to me anymore, and for once in my life, I think I'd actually crossed my own line. 'Huh. That's what it feels like. That's… kind of a dick move, Me.' I didn't know anything about my aphasia at that time except that it was getting worse. I gulped and wondered, 'Is it gonna take out my speech, too, someday?'

The air inside the cab suddenly felt stale, and as Spitfire shut the door, I remembered a funeral I'd gone to as a colt. It had been some great aunt or something on Mom's side, somepony I'd barely known. I didn't understand what it meant, not until Mom and Dad and I had gotten in the cab and everything had gone quiet. Something felt wrong about that ride, and neither of my parents were doing anything to fix it. Spitfire and Fire Streak wore the same expressions Mom and Dad had: the rigid smiles that try to tell you everything is going to be okay but that really let you know the opposite.

I didn't want to think of Spitfire and Fire Streak as my parents. Streak could never live up, and I refused to drag my opinion of Spitfire that far down. But I kept seeing it in the way they looked at me, and I realized how many times they'd helped us, over and over, and they were doing it again, way more than I deserved. I felt really special, but…

…but I hated it, too. I didn't want to be the pony everypony else had to take care of. Being a Wonderbolt means always being in control, but there I was, quietly obeying two other ponies, one of which I still outranked. I clenched my jaw and shook my head. I didn't want to think about it anymore.

We took off. Braeburn sat quietly while the rest of us went over Wonderbolt protocol. I knew the policy pretty well, but going over it again was a good distraction. Doctor Hope would do a full assessment and write a report about my condition, including a recommendation about whether or not I was clear to fly. I would probably have to sit out one show, just to be safe, but they would consider giving me a flashy bit part just to keep the media off our backs. We'd use the "new stunt that's tough to perfect" excuse. Safety first, though. 

I told them to give Sightseer my spot. Officially, it was because he was used to roster changes on the fly, but unofficially, it was because he'd been nice to Braeburn. Yeah, big surprise, right? We pick favorites, just like everypony else.

We arrived at a small, white building at the edge of downtown Cloudsdale. It looked clean and had green plants out front, which showed that the business was doing well. The wooden sign above the double-wide doors had gold lettering that read, "Doctor Radiant Hope – Neurologist."

I got out of the cab, but Braeburn nearly bumped into me when I hesitated outside. My stomach crawled up into my throat bit by bit as I slowly made my way to the doors. My eyes never left the sign. 'Neurologist.' It made my brain feel warm, which made me wonder how quickly my condition could get worse. 'Is this what brain damage feels like?' I snapped my head forward and stood up straight, eyes wide. 'I should stop tilting my head back.'

After we checked in, Spitfire pulled me aside and asked, "You going to be okay if I go work on the flight reviews?"

I felt a pang in my chest. I wanted her to be there, but she was leaving. 'She's not Mom,' I told myself. With a cheesy smile, I waved a dismissive hoof. "Meh, I'll be fine."

"Good. Until I see you again, focus on getting better. Streak and I'll figure out the PR angle, so everything will be fine." She put her glasses on and smirked. "As long as you don't do anything stupid between now and Wednesday." 

I stuck out my lower lip. "Weeeeell, then you're doomed."

"A pony can dream." She flared out her wings and turned to go. "Get better, Soarin'. The team's not the same without you." I felt a snarky comment rise in my throat, but I kept it down and just enjoyed the compliment as I walked her out the door.

Spitfire flew away, and my leg twitched. 'She's leaving.' I felt my wings reflexively start to flare out until I caught myself. My mouth tasted like bile. I shook my head, walked back to the others, and mumbled to myself, "She's not Mom."

Radiant Hope wasn't open long on Sundays, but he was staying late just for me (or more likely, for the fat check the Wonderbolts cut him every time he treats one of us). I sat down in the comfortable lobby, which was full of plush chairs and abstract wall art, all in a purple and light blue color scheme. A tired-looking mare with diamond earrings slumped in a chair about three meters away, but besides her, it was just me, Braeburn, Streak, and the receptionist, listening to the ticking of a wooden clock. Braeburn stroked my wings, which helped, but a couple feathers caught in his horse shoe.

I looked up and said quietly to Streak, "Heh. Sorry about ruining your date last night. Was it bad?"

Streak pursed his lips. "Bro, you don't know fear until you've gotten caught lying to Spitfire." He adjusted his wings. "I told her before dinner. She'd realized I was hiding something, and I didn't want to pretend everything was fine. She would have seen right through me."

I nodded. "She must have been pissed."

Streak shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, the first thing she said was how we need to make sure you're okay. She even told me to look into counseling services. But, yeah, after I told her about it, I got my head bitten off for five minutes."

I raised an eyebrow. "Just five?"

Fire Streak nodded. "Something changes when Spitfire thinks of you as an equal, you know? It's not just business all the time. She trusts us. I had a chance to explain everything, and she listened." He shrugged. "I mean, she didn't agree with my decision, but she understood why I did it. She, I dunno…"

Braeburn said, "She's forgiving, at least when your heart's in the right place."

"Yeah." Streak smirked. "So, you didn't actually ruin my night. It got a lot better after that."

I grinned. "Oh really?"

"I think she was impressed that I'd told the truth." His smile faltered. "Or maybe we were both just scared. Hearing about an injury like, uh…" He blinked a few times, and I could see him trying to dance around his words. "…yours… I-it makes you wonder if you might have something, too. It reminds you how fragile you are, and how dangerous this job is, and you just want to live, you know? You want to feel alive."

I put a hoof on Braeburn's.

Braeburn said, "You're right."

There was a moment of silence, but then I chirped, "But… it was pretty hot, right?"

Streak's face lit up, and he smiled, biting his lower lip as his eyes rolled back into his head. "Bro, you don't even know! Her body is svelte and fit and perfect. You don't appreciate it until it's right up against you, and sweet Celestia does she know what she's doing!"

I snickered. "Nice. You let her take the reins?"

"I never had them to begin with." He waved one hoof. "But that's all you're getting, and don't tell her I talked about it."

"No problem," I said as I tried to figure out the best way to tell her. I settled on, 'Right before a press conference with all three of us!' I turned back to Braeburn and nudged him. "Maybe you and Spitfire could swap techniques sometime."

Before Braeburn could answer, a nurse opened the door to the back. "Soarin'? We're ready for you."

I waved at the nurse, then kissed Braeburn and stood up. "Wish me luck."

Braeburn stood up and hugged me. "I'll be right here, Soarin'. Love you."

"Love you, too." I hugged Braeburn, gave Streak a hoof-bump, and went in.

The nurse led me to an exam room, the kind you find at any hospital: it had a cold table, sterile equipment everywhere, and a complete lack of color. The exam started with the usual stuff: vitals, general health questions, depression screening, that kind of thing. She took my results out of the room, and I was left to argue with myself about whether or not I should swipe a lollipop from the dish on the counter.

After fifteen minutes of waiting (and six lollipops), she came back and led me to Doctor Hope's office. It looked more like a study, full of books that were – I assume – about brain structure and general medical practice. Along with a few plastic models of brains, the books filled up bookshelves that were made of dark, red wood and complimented the plush, burgundy carpet. The room felt cozy and inviting, and the warm colors and low light gave it a mild glow. Radiant Hope sat behind an oversized oak desk that was mostly clear except for the calendar, writing utensils, a file, a picture frame that faced away from me, and a stack of large cards to his right. 

Doctor Radiant Hope was a pegasus, and he wore a slightly small white dress shirt that highlighted his barely-pink coat. He was about my size, but his wings were a bit small, and his wavy pink-and-orange mane had been neatly brushed. It had a few wisps of grey, and he wore these thick, chic glasses, but he didn't look old old. Just… mature. Almost fatherly, especially with that warm, half-lidded expression he always wore. "Good morning, Soarin'. Please come in," he said in a low, smooth voice, the kind that all highly-trained professionals seem to use. He walked around the desk to shake my hoof. "I'm sorry you had to come in today, but it's an honor to finally meet you."

"Likewise," I said as we sat down.

"So," he said, adjusting to his seat. "Mr. Streak tells me he has some concerns about the Wonderbolts' star flier. Good of him to speak up. You're lucky to have a friend like him."

I thought back to everything Streak had done for me. "You have no idea."

"We should all be so lucky." He straightened up his back. "I know your time is valuable, and I'd like to get started, if that's alright." He made a short sweeping motion with his hoof. "May I?"

I sighed. "Yeah, let's do this."

Taking a piece of paper from the file and dipping his quill in the ink, he said, "Very good. Now, in your own words, why have you come in today?"

I smirked. "Because my co-captains made me."

He snickered. "Yes, I've heard about that wit of yours. I suppose I'll have to ask my questions more carefully. So, how about this: why would a healthy Wonderbolt like you need to see a brain specialist?"

The conversation had gone from warm and jokey to cold and serious all over again. I shifted in my seat and mumbled. "Just… some… weird stuff."

He cocked his head to the side. "Such as?"

My voice got even quieter. "I'm… having trouble reading." I winced. 'No big deal. I'll get over it.'

There's no way he heard me, but then again, Streak probably told him everything before the appointment. "Well, that can certainly be scary, but you've done the brave thing and made the right choice by coming in today. I promise you, you're in good hooves, and I'll do everything I can to assist you."

"Thanks," I said a little louder.

"So, let's see if we can get to the root of the problem." He opened the file on his desk back up. "All your vitals look normal, as do the preliminary blood tests, but it will be another day or so before we know for sure." He looked up. "Injuries can sometimes lead to these sorts of issues. Have you had any recent head trauma?"

I hesitated and remembered telling Braeburn about all of it. My throat tightened up, and my neck felt hot as I relived that moment in the orchard, that agonizing few seconds where I'd completely lost control, felt myself falling sideways, and heard that loud crack just before everything went dark. 'It was probably a dream. It didn't really happen.'

Radiant Hope relaxed his shoulders and smiled at me. "Soarin', I imagine you're worried." His voice became even more soothing. "But I'm here to help. I'm no psychologist, of course, but I've spoken to a lot of ponies in your position. What's on your mind?"

It was something about the way he phrased it, the way the words glided out of his mouth. "I'm scared, Doc. It's not just the head injury – even though that's bucking terrifying – but…" I shrugged and chewed on the inside of my cheek. "…like, what about my career? And the media? And…" I remembered Braeburn. I remembered how hard it would be to support us. "There's a lot riding on me flying again, and I... I-I don't want to get cut from the team."

Mentally, I added, '…again.'

Radiant Hope nodded. "I understand." He spoke calmly and leaned in a little. "Soarin', I know how important stunt flying is to all the Wonderbolts. It's a lesson I've learned many time by working closely with the team for over twenty years. Of course, if it were up to me, your line of work wouldn't exist. Far too dangerous." He sighed and straightened his glasses. "But it's not up to me, and I wouldn't presume to dictate how ponies live their lives. I hope you understand, though, that the Wonderbolts wouldn't keep sending their fliers to me if I kept grounding them without proper cause." He made sure we had eye contact before he continued. "So I promise, Soarin', that I'll give you a fair assessment, and I'll clear you to fly if I can, but to do that, I'll need all the information you can give me. Do you think you can do that?"

It felt like I had to make a big choice, even though there was only one option. Everything in those days felt that way, like every step I took was a struggle, a big metal ring I had to fly through over and over. I wanted things to be easy, but I guess that would have been too much to ask.

I sighed. "Yeah." 

For the next twenty minutes, I explained about the crash in the apple orchard and that bruise I'd woken up with on the train ride to Ponyville, when it all started getting worse. He asked a ton of questions about my symptoms, including how many times I'd noticed having trouble reading. I told him as much as I could, but it never seemed like enough. As time went on, his questions went from "How did it feel?" to "Would you describe the pain and more burning, numbing, or sharp?" to "Can you tell me everything you did to treat yourself after that crash, including what you ate and how hydrated you were?" I felt my chest tighten as I answered "I don't know!" for the hundredth time, and he scribbled a few more notes onto a page in a file.

After a wordless minute of pen scratching on paper, he set down his quill and sighed. "Thank you, Soarin'. My hoof's tired, so I think we can stop," he said with a smile. "You've been very helpful, and it was very brave of you to stick it out through all my questions." There was that word again: brave. I didn't need to be reminded. I wasn't a colt. "The brain is a complicated organ, and the more information we have, the better. On that note, I'd like to give you a Magical Refraction Imaging scan. If you have time today, we have the machine down the hall, and I can ask my assistant to set it up."

I blinked. "Uh…"

Radiant Hope chuckled. "You're wondering what in Tartarus the machine does?" I nodded. "Well, it will let us see into your brain and highlight any irregularities or internal damage, which will make your condition easier to diagnose. It's very routine, and it's covered by the Wonderbolts' insurance. I think it would be for the best." I agreed, and after he'd found an assistant in the hall and told her to set everything up, he sat back down.

He sighed. His smile became a little more wooden, but he still had soft eyes. He was good at staying calm. "So, while that's getting set up…" He patted the pile of large cards next to him. "I'd like to spend some time assessing your current reading level, if that's alright."

'…Buck!' The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I wondered exactly how much more my nerves could take.

He folded his hooves. "It's a standard exercise, and it will tell us quite a lot. Would you mind trying?"

I sat up and tried to speak with an even voice. "Sure, Doc. Whatever you need me to do." Unfortunately, my voice was less "even" and more "colt going through puberty."

"Excellent," he said, picking up the first card and showing me the blank side. "Each of these cards has a sentence printed on it. I'm going to show you a card, and you're going to read it aloud as fast as you can. Don't worry about accuracy. I'm just testing your speed."

It was bullshit, of course. Accuracy was the only thing he was measuring. He just said that so he'd get honest results. I understand it now, but at the time, I had to grunt and clench my jaw. I didn't like being treated like a foal. "Yeah, sure."

"Any questions?" When I shook my head, he said, "Good. Here's the first one. Remember, just read it out loud as quickly as you can." He flipped the card over.

I squinted and focused as much as I could, but after a second, I rolled my eyes and growled, "The pony is big."

"Very good," he said with way too much enthusiasm, scribbling a note down into my file. "How about this one?" He put down the card and held up another one.

I focused again, almost as hard. "My friends played hoofball yesterday," I mumbled. I could read it just fine, but the words were weighty, like it was hard to lift them to my mouth. I felt like I was in kindergarten again, and Hope's tone had gone from comforting to condescending. 

"Good work, Soarin'. Here's–"

"Seriously?" I raised an eyebrow. "Doc, you don't need to give me the special snowflake treatment."

He just smiled calmly. "I know they appear simplistic, Soarin', but they're a valuable tool, and they will increase in difficulty. Just stick with it. Here's the next one." He held it up.

I sneered and blew air out of my lips. I didn't focus. "Uncle magic can be extraordinarily powerful." My eyes shot wide open. "Wait! I-I meant uni–"

He'd snapped the card down and was writing more notes. "Don't worry. You're doing well. It's alright. Next." He held up another card.

My pulse raced, and I hesitated. 

He turned the card down. "As fast as you can, please. You can do fast, right, Soarin'?" He was still speaking in a kindly voice, I'm sure, but it felt like he was hissing at me.

I swallowed hard. "Y… Yeah."

"Ready?"

I paused, then nodded.

He showed me again.

And I felt my lip quiver. "Everypony dived their fal… favorite c-cookies to the Sun–" Quickly, I spat out, "Saturday picnic."

"Good." It wasn't. It didn't make sense. "Next."

'What's happening? I'm better than this. I wish Braeburn was here.' My chest tightened up. My voice became stiff, and I focused as hard as I could, but my thoughts were all over the place. 'This isn't happening. I need Braeburn. Where's Braeburn?' 

He held up the card. My pulse raced as I nearly shouted, "Minister Apple terror apple…" I sucked in a quick breath. My heart stopped. I kept pushing forward, but my chest felt hollow. "…p-propose he…" I paused again, just for a split second, but it was enough to feel like my entire body was deflating. I barely whispered, "…love Braeburn…"

Hope smiled and gently set the card down. "Would you like to continue?"

My hoof shook. I wanted to jump out of my seat, grab the cards, and shove them in his face. I wanted to draw him a picture of ponies diving with cookies, just to prove it was a real thing that happened, then rip the cards to shreds. I wanted to scream at him and tell him I was fine.

But everything felt too heavy, and besides, Dad wouldn't have approved. "No, I don't," I said softly, my eyes dropping to the floor. My wings and ears both drooped. "Doc… What's happening to me?"

In that same pleasant voice, he said, "You're a fighter, Soarin', and so is that brain of yours. It may not seem like it right now, but those were good results overall. We'll know more after your scan. It should be about ready."

"…Fine."

Radiant Hope led me into the hallway, which was decorated with a less-plush carpet and a bunch of plants. The walls were made of cloud but had been painted a deep, forest green with Magi-Mist. I trudged closely behind him, ears down, like I was going to the principal's office. I felt small in that hallway, smaller than I had in a long time, and I barely noticed that I'd walked into another sterile, white room with giant, metal cylinder inside.

The MRI was awful. Inside the cylinder, I had to lie in this metal sling with my legs dangling below me and a clamp over my face to keep my head still. It was padded, at least, but they put blinders on to keep me calm, and a nurse stuck some foam earplugs in. I was suspended in nothingness, and when I had trouble keeping still, they gave me a mild sedative. It made my head feel fuzzy and gave my muscles this weird, unnaturally relaxed feeling, so I guess it worked, but I could still feel myself suck in a breath every time I realized how trapped I was. I had to imagine that Braeburn had tied me up just to relax. Thank Luna they were only taking pictures of my head.

It didn't get any better when they started the machine. Even with the earplugs, it was loud. Being inside it felt like being a newborn in one of those bouncy crib things, but way more extreme. It made this rhythmic, blaring siren noise, like BWEH BWEH BWEH BWEH BWEH! It distracted me for a few seconds, but then, my thoughts started piling up.

I wasn't scared, really. I just… kept thinking, 'Why is this happening? What happens if I'm broken? What if it can't be fixed? Would Radiant Hope even tell me the truth? My head throbbed along with the pulses of the machine – I think it was the magic taking the image of my brain – and my thoughts kept looping through all the worst possibilities. My wings tried to flare out on their own, but they were locked in place, and even twitching them was difficult with the sedative still in me.

But I kept telling myself, 'Braeburn said he'd stick by me. I'm not alone.' And that brought me peace, at least as long as I wasn't thinking, 'I hope he meant it.'

The scan finished, and I was led back to the waiting room, where it was just Braeburn and Streak. Braeburn jumped up and ran to me as soon as I came out of the door, but he didn't say anything besides, "I love you, Big Blue." He hugged me, and we sat down in the chairs.

They both wanted to ask what was happening. I could see it in the way they smiled and looked at me, only for their eyes to flick away whenever I looked back. Streak sighed loudly as he looked around the walls, absent-mindedly eyeing the decorations. Braeburn kept staring at the ground, and he put his hoof on mine, squeezing every once in a while to let me know he was still there. Or maybe he needed to know I was still there.

And me? I felt numb, and I did everything I could to keep it that way. Thinking and feeling were only going to make things worse.

I was called back into Hope's study after about twenty minutes. Hope was behind his desk, but now he had an off-white folder sitting there instead of the reading cards. His smile was more strained now, but he still spoke calmly as I sat down. "My secretary tells me you brought another visitor in today, somepony besides Mr. Streak."

I nodded. "Yeah. My coltfriend, Braeburn." Even then, I still got a thrill saying it.

Hope smiled more genuinely. "We usually only allow family members into these consultation sessions, but I could certainly make an exception if you'd rather have him here. Would you like me to bring him in?"

I swallowed hard. If he was offering to bring somepony else it, it probably meant I'd want somepony beside me while I heard the results. I tried to take his words at face value. "Yes, please."

Braeburn was called in, and sweet Luna, he looked strong. He walked with that same wide strut he used when he was showing somepony around Appleloosa, and he tipped his hat politely to Hope as they greeted each other. Braeburn scooted a chair right next to mine, and then he sat down, resting his head on my shoulder. Hope's opinion of queer couples didn't matter to him – Braeburn wanted to touch me. I wrapped my wing around him, and that healing aura of his immediately slowed down my breathing.

Luckily, Hope was cool. "I can see you two care deeply for each other."

"More than anything," I said.

Braeburn chuckled. "Doc, you don't know the half of it."

"I'm very happy for you both," Hope said as he opened the folder. "I've only gotten to take a cursory look at these, and I'll spend more time with them today before I write my report, but I didn't want to keep you waiting." I appreciated that. His voice was steady, clinical even, and he adjusted his glasses again as he dove right in. "Soarin', you've sustained significant damage to the frontal lobe of your brain in what is commonly known as 'Bucka's Area,' or the language center of your brain."

Braeburn gasped, and we both tensed.

"The damage likely resulted from the crash in the apple orchard, and it may have been compounded in that train incident that you don't seem to remember, the one in which you woke up with that mysterious bruise." 

Braeburn lifted his head from me and leaned forward. "Y-You can fix him, though, right, Doc?"

Hope scanned our faces, and he adjusted his voice to be less clinical and more fatherly. "At this point, Soarin's condition should be treatable, but it's going to be a long road, and we can't be sure he'll completely recover." He turned to me. "And you'll always be more susceptible to further concussions and traumatic brain injury. It will be of the utmost importance that you don't have another crash like the one in the orchard."

Braeburn interjected. He was sweating. "There's gotta be a spell or somethin', right? Maybe a unicorn?" He looked at me and stroked my foreleg. "We'll figure somethin' out, Big Blue."

I frowned at him, but I understood. Braeburn had been my big, strong stallion all day, but hearing the doctor confirm his worst fears made it all too real for him. The illusion was breaking down. There wasn't any denying it anymore – his coltfriend had been seriously injured and had nearly died. But seeing him start to panic stabbed at my heart, so I took a breath and set a hoof on his shoulder. "I'll do whatever the doctor asks, Applebutt. I promise." I brought his hoof to my lips and kissed it. 'My turn, Brae. Let me be the strong one for a while.'

Radiant Hope paused to make sure we were done. "Unfortunately, neuro-arcana is a largely unexplored field. You can understand why – the brain is a complicated organ, and performing magical treatment of this nature is incredibly dangerous and runs into several ethical dilemmas. It's outlawed in all but the most tightly regulated institutions, and even there, research hasn't gotten very far. There is some good work being done with potions to help stimulate cell growth, but it is by no means a cure." His head hung a little. "I'm very sorry this isn't happier news. As I said, we have many treatment options, but there's no hard-and-fast cure. There's too much about the brain that we don't know."

Braeburn snapped. "Well, what do you know? Can't your fancy machines tell us anythin' at all?" I rubbed his shoulder, but he didn't relax.

Hope remained unshaken. "Certainly. I'm happy to answer any questions you have, but please remember that I'll need more time to make my full diagnosis." He opened the folder and looked at the pages again, which included several images of my brain, and dude, it is freaky seeing how much your brain looks like a pile of meat, especially when some of the areas have been highlighted in red. He didn't offer to let me take a closer look. "At first glance, this looks like a case of Bucka's aphasia, but even that is a blanket term, as it manifests differently in everypony. Some lose the ability to speak coherently, some can speak well but don't understand spoken language, and some, like Soarin', have issues with writing and reading comprehension."

Before Braeburn could leap down his throat again, I asked, "So why do the words look wrong? I can, like, still read, but they're just…" My face scrunched up, and I made a circle in the air with a hoof. "…wrong."

"Like I said earlier, Soarin', your brain is a fighter. One moment, please." He reached into his desk drawer and took out a bunch of colored toothpicks. He spread them on the desk in front of him. "We're getting into theoretical territory here, but I've found this metaphor to be helpful. Imagine your brain is the Equestrian Mail System, and the words you read are pieces of mail." He joined the ends of several of the toothpicks, making a large network. "As you learn to read, your brain gets better at connecting the words to the abstract thoughts, like the mailponies learning to deliver the mail to the correct house. Your brain carefully constructs the most efficient paths possible. For example, all the words associated with the ocean cluster together, so that when you think of the ocean, the beach, and the fish, the mail doesn't have to travel very far."

I knew where he was going with it. During the interview, I told him I'd mixed up the words "water" and "whale" on Braeburn's recipe card.

Hope finished putting the toothpicks in place. They formed an intricate, almost beautiful web. "It's a very efficient system, and what makes the brain amazing is that it works so smoothly. It even improves itself over time. However, when it's exposed to trauma…" He flicked the center of the network with his hoof, and I groaned as the toothpicks clacked and scattered around his desk. "…it becomes difficult to know which mailpony used to be where. Most of the mailponies are still there, of course, but they've been jumbled. Your brain often has to take its best guess with new information, which is why you might have mixed up 'whale' and 'water' when you were cooking. Whales live in the water, which the non-language center of your brain still knows is true, so it tries to force those pieces together to repair the damage. It's the same with 'trowel' and 'tablespoon.' Both are scooping tools that start with a 't' and have roughly the same shape. Does that make sense?"

Braeburn was silent. I nodded. "Yeah. I… think I get it." My brain tingled again. I didn't know if it was repairing itself or making things worse. "So… what? Do I need to, like, break everything again until it all ends up in the right spot?"

Hope's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, goodness no! What you need is to slowly correct it. Retrain your brain and realign the synapses slowly. Of course, your therapist will go over the details with you and help customize your plan. On that note, I'd like to send you to Doctor Gentle Soul, our resident therapist. He has my highest recommendation – we combined our practices over fifteen years ago when I saw the high quality of work he does to rehabilitate his patients. He truly is an amazing pony."

Braeburn sat up and snorted. "I'm sure he's nice, but is he really as good as you say? I want Soarin' to get the best care he can. Is this Gentle Soul guy the best? Is he trustworthy?"

Hope smiled. "Absolutely."

Braeburn narrowed his eyes. "But you work with him, and we've only got your word to go off of."

"Well, more than my word," Hope chuckled, setting a hoof on his desk. "I did marry him, after all." He turned the picture on his desk around, and I saw a much younger Radiant Hope nuzzling a powder-blue pegasus with a minty green mane, both of them wearing tuxedos and smiling with such genuine warmth that I could feel it in my chest.

It shouldn't have mattered to me that Radiant Hope was queer, but it did. Braeburn and I had been going through so much, both in our relationship and with the outside world, and seeing that the pony we had to rely on was one of us, a guy who understood what it was like and who had been with his partner for over fifteen years, made a world of difference. I smiled to myself and thought, 'We're gonna make it.'

Braeburn's tone warmed up, too. "I… suppose that's about the best endorsement you could give. Heh heh. Hoo…" He blushed. "Sorry for makin' assumptions. Makes me wonder, though – ain't that a conflict of interest?"

I smirked. Braeburn had brought up a good point, but he was really just trying to change the subject.

Hope smiled. "As I said, we're technically part of the same company, so it's more of a service provided by our collective practice than an outside recommendation, but if it makes you uncomfortable, you are free to go anywhere you like. I assure you, though, that Gentle Soul is the best at what he does."

I snickered. "You mean bottoming? Sorry, Doc, but Braeburn's got him beat."

Hope blushed and smiled like a schoolcolt who'd just said the word "butt" for the first time. "There's that famous wit again. Ha-ha!" He shook his head and briefly hid behind a hoof. "No, no, although he's quite good at that, too. He's a wonderful husband all around, and he's an even better therapist." Hope's eyes unfocused, and he blushed again, smiling goofily. "I'll just say that he's a stallion of many talents and leave it at that."

I winked at Hope. "Just let him know he's got competition." We laughed together for a few moments, but after it died down, an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. "So… can I ask the big one, Doc?"

Hope nodded. "Of course."

The words caught on my lips, but I forced them out. "Is there… a chance, Doc? Will I get to fly again?"

He smiled. "Most definitely."

The pressure released from my chest right as Braeburn squeezed me tightly and kissed my face a dozen times. "Oh, thank Celestia!" he shouted as he latched onto me.

I blinked a few times, stunned. In one moment, everything had gone from grim and hopeless to manageable and bright. "I'm… going to be okay?" A small smile grew into a giant grin, and my brain locked out almost everything in disbelief. "I'm going to fly again!"

"Certainly," Hope said. Lowering his voice a notch, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner. I was distracted by a certain smart-mouthed Wonderbolt." 

I let out a shuddering breath, and Braeburn stood up and shook the doctor's hoof. "Thank you, Doc. Sorry I doubted you. I can't tell you what a weight you've lifted off of us."

I tried to tell him how grateful I was, but I was still feeling the endorphins wash over me. My face buzzed, and I just let out a soothing, "Bleh…"

Hope chuckled and folded the results up again. "I appreciate it, but I'm just doing my job, and I'm glad I have at least some good news. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though. I won't have a full diagnosis and recommendation until Tuesday, so until then, you are to stay away from practice. Get some rest, and take some time for yourselves. I imagine you could use it after these last few weeks."

Braeburn kissed me again. "Like you wouldn't believe."

The rest of the visit is mostly a blur. We said our goodbyes and met Streak in the waiting room, and he immediately relaxed when he saw that we weren't crying. The secretary set us up with a follow-up appointment Tuesday to go over the results, and Streak got a copy of the note telling me not to fly in the meantime. He folded it up and put it into his saddlebag. "Perfect. In that case, you're officially excused from practice until Wednesday. Spitfire and I will handle Bottom Line, so you two take it easy."

"Heh," I chuckled. "Thaaaaat's not gonna happen." I slapped Braeburn's ass with my wing, and after a quick yelp, he cuddled closer to me.

Pressed up against me, Braeburn said, "Thanks for everything, Fire Streak. We'd be lost without you."

Streak smiled. "Same here."

We flew back home in the cab, and Streak took off towards the Academy to help Spitfire review the Friday show and look for improvements. That show had seemed so long ago, but I danced in place when I realized I still had hundreds of shows ahead of me. Plus, upside of traumatic brain injury? Nopony calls you out on your mistakes.

…

Just kidding. Spitfire sent me a vicious critique the next day.

Braeburn and I walked into our home, each sighing heavily. The door shut, and I sat down in the hallway, my head spinning. 'Am I going to pass out?' I thought.

Braeburn spun around and hugged me again, reading my thoughts. "You're gonna be okay, Big Blue." After a small squeak, he shouted, "You're gonna be okay!"

I flattened my ear to my head and laughed. "Little loud, Applebutt."

He nuzzled me. "Ain't holdin' back my excitement, Blue. This is…" He sighed, "Oh, this is good news. We needed this."

I hugged him back. "We'll be okay."

Braeburn pulled back. "Absolutely. Now, I think a little celebration's in order. All this good news calls for a drink!" He smiled broadly.

My expression dropped.

…but it loosened up when he snickered at me. "Gotcha." He kissed me nose and sat down in front of me, his hoof on mine and looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes. "Ya' gotta give me at least a little credit."

I cleared my throat. "I'll, uh… I'll try."

His eyes sparkled like they hadn't in weeks.  He looked down at our hooves, then back up, a slight blush in his cheeks. His voice was softer as he lightly stroked my face. "I meant what I said, Soarin'. You're a hell of a catch, and you bring out the best in me."

My chest inflated, and I felt dizzy, but in the love way, not the "career-ending concussion" way. "You do, too, Braeburn."

"Naw," he said, rubbing his head under my chin. "I ain't seen the best yet. You just keep gettin' better." He pulled back and looked at me again, his voice even quieter. "And I'm stayin' with you, Soarin'. Hell or high water. Nothin's gonna tear me away from you, no matter how hard it pulls."

As much relief as I felt, there was the little nagging part of me that worried. "Promise?"

He nodded. "Promise."

I smiled. 'He still means it.'

Braeburn laughed and nuzzled me again. "Now, I think somepony's long overdue for his pie. Shame that we missed yesterday. Broke our streak."

I nuzzled him back. "Meh, we can start a new one. Just don't be too rough with me." I nibbled on his ear and felt him shudder.

"Heh heh." He licked my face, and his voice became sultry. "I promise I'll be gentle. Now go get ready, ya' sexy bastard. I'll get the blindfold."