//------------------------------//
// 11. Nothing’s Broken 
// Story: Truth Needs No Colors 
// by Lastingimage24 
//------------------------------//

"The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury."

-Marcus Aurelius

Sketch and Trust peered up and down the front of Sketch’s house. To the both of them, it had never seemed so big before. Sketch craned his head and looked behind them, relieved no one was still around, and concerned about the trickle of blood Trust was leaving behind.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off. The pain of inevitable bruises began to set in. Sharp, lingering pain shot through his muscles every move he made, and certain positions nearly locked his limbs in place. He could only hope that he hadn’t broken a rib, or have gotten a more serious injury. Having to go to the hospital would be difficult to explain to his parents. He had played with the ideas he had to lie to his parents, saying that he got in a fight or had gotten run over by a carriage, but he ultimately decided to cross that bridge when he got there. Hell, he could probably tell them the truth, that he was on the sky tram when it failed, and just leave out the parts with Trust and Royal. He would only have to lie about why he had gone out of town in the first place, which he felt was more of a white lie than anything. Maybe even say he was meeting a mare, though he was unsure if that would make them less angry about him sneaking out or more angry. Maybe his dad would be okay with it. They’d probably be too glad he got out alive to be angry with him, come to think of it.

Again, crossing that bridge when he gets there.

“What’s the plan?” Trust whispered. “Maybe I should just stay out here.”

“No, don’t worry,” Sketch denied. He really wanted her in a bed with her injuries. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll go in first and make sure they aren’t home, then we’ll head upstairs.”

“I could just fly up to your bedroom,” she offered. Any other day would make Sketch blush at her words. Today, he wasn’t feeling up to it.

“You really shouldn’t be flying. I don’t know how close you are to them, but pegasus wings pull on breast and stomach muscles, That’s where your wound is, and we don’t wanna make it worse.”

Her face made it obvious she wanted to protest, but Sketch’s tone along with everything he had been through made her shut her mouth and nod.

Sketch limped to his door and tried to pull the handle with his magic, but the dim light that resulted flickered and died on the attempt. “Shit.” It had been a while, but he manually pulled the door open after a little fumbling, which agitated a few of his sore muscles, causing him to double over in pain. He saw Trust instinctively reach for him, but she winced at her own injuries before she could act. Sketch stepped inside, fairly confident that his parents were already asleep thanks to the lack of light. He had decided he would just deal with them right now if he got caught, but thankfully the living room seemed empty. A quick look up the stairs revealed that all the lights were off, so he returned outside and motioned Trust to follow him in. He put his right foreleg around her neck and guided her to the stairs, and followed them up one step at a time, taking a small break halfway up to catch their breath. As soon as Trust entered his bedroom, he let go of a bated breath. “Lay on my bed,” he ordered, walking up to it himself and pulling away the sheets. Trust approached and bit her lip, unsure.

“Sketch, I’m going to get blood all over your sheets,” she complained, closing her eyes in self-aware irrational shame.

“Do you really think I care about that right now,” he chuckled lightheartedly. “It’s fine Trust. I can get new sheets. I can’t get a new you.”

“You could always just start making out with Royal,” she laughed weakly. Sketch smiled, glad she was throwing jokes out. It was a good sign of health.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” he quipped, pulling his blanket over her lower body. She was facing him to give full view of her cut. She was right about her initial diagnoses: it wasn’t very deep. She had probably attempted to dodge out of the way of the snapping cable.  She probably actually would have gotten cut in half if she was just a bit closer, but Sketch had to shake that ‘what if’ out of his mind. She probably wouldn’t need stitches, and her bleeding was already beginning to stop. They just needed to bandage her up and get her some rest.

Sketch cursed the fact he wouldn’t be able to take her to a hospital. “I’m gonna grab the first aid kit,” he called out as he left. He rushed to the bathroom and looked underneath the sink. They always kept a standard kit in the cupboard with some disinfectant and a roll of gauze. Everything he hoped she needed. It wasn’t long before he was back in the bedroom.

“Alright, sit up,” he ordered again, placing a hoof on her back and assisting her on her way up. All of this demanding made Sketch feel a little uncomfortable, even though the logical part of his brain deemed it necessary. He’d much rather be taking orders from her, if he was quite honest. Trust’s expression was one of idle distress, a mix of hopelessness and sorrow, with a hint of fear. He could tell that her mind was racing, as Sketch’s was before they had made it home. Right now, he had things to occupy his mind, but navigating the alleyways simply made his brain swim amongst questions that didn’t have answers, and the fear of the unknown. Maybe there was something else in his head, as well. Remorse? The feeling that, despite always doing what he thought was the right thing, he could have done better. Like he was missing a crucial something that would’ve given him a third solution from his initial two, that would’ve made everything better. That’s where the real fear was.

Sketch retrieved the bandages and disinfectant with his hooves, his magic still on the fritz. “I’m gonna have to do this by hand... hoof. So i’m going to have to...”

“Get close?” Trust offered. “You’re not going to take advantage of me, are you, doc?” Trust’s expression betrayed her words, a teasing, thin smile with soft eyes. Something that said, ‘I might be nervous, but this is what I want.’

“I’d... never,” he breathed, unsure of what to say. He got close, pressing his chest up against her back, and wrapping his left foreleg around her. He swallowed nervously, his mouth getting dryer. Trust smiled and hummed, pressing her chin against his leg, nearly causing him to drop the bottle of disinfectant as he dabbed some on a cloth.

“Is this going to hurt?” she asked honestly. “I had to do this once and it hurt.”

“Yes, a bit. But I’m here, Trust.” Sketch set aside the bottle, and pressed the cloth up to the wound. She grunted and screamed through pursed lips, and her breathing became labored, but Sketch was there to whisper comforts in her ear. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “You’ll be fine,” he’d assure. After a short amount of time that no doubt felt like eons to Trust, Sketch released the cloth and tossed it aside, it now covered in dark red blood, a dull mix of her blood and the medicine. Sketch immediately grabbed the bandages and got to work. Trust started to pace her breathing again.

Sketch had to clumsily trade hooves with the bandages as he wrapped it around her chest, forcing him to firmly press up against her as he did, his cheek rubbing up against her’s as he made a round. As he wrapped the last round, he notified her, and he pressed up one more time to tie the bandage. Just as he was about to finish, Trust craned her neck to kiss his cheek.

He nearly fell off the bed in embarrassment, but as he regained himself, he decided to stay in this position even after the bandaging was finished. He wrapped his forelegs around her as if it were another layer of protection for her wound, and he dug his muzzle into the mane at the base of the right side of her neck. Trust reached up and began trailing his forelegs with her own, as if she were petting him. She hummed again. “Thanks, doctor Sketch.”

“Anytime,” he offered, his eyes closed. If something didn’t happen soon, he was going to fall asleep. He decided this would probably be too awkward a position and became resolute in asking Trust a question. “You said you had to do this before?”

“Mhmm,” she confirmed, sounding like she was in a bit of a twilight moment herself. “Believe it or not Sketch, you aren’t the first pony I had contact with. When I was a kid, I had to have just a bit of guidance, or else I wouldn’t be here. I’m sure Royal was the same too.”

“Who was it?”

There was a pause, as if it was difficult to recall. “Deecha, an old deer way down south. He was at the end of his days when he found me passed out from an illness in the forest. I was like... three, four years old? He took care of me until I was... seven I think. Didn’t tell anyone about me. He lived near the forest by himself. He uhh... passed away before I left.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea...”

“I don’t like to remember him, cause he was the only one who cared...” Trust shrugged, which sent ripples of warmth throughout Sketch on her back. “But talking about him with you... it doesn’t feel as bad.” Trust sighed, drawing little circles in Sketch’s leg. “I think he’d have liked you.”

He laughed, poking his snout against Trust’s cheek. “I’d hope so.”

Trust stretched, signaling Sketch to separate and climb off the bed. His muscles screamed in agony at the sudden lack of warmth and comfort. “I should be heading off, right? Don’t want to be in here when your parents wake up.”

Sketch looked at the clock. 3:00 AM. With all that had happened, Sketch found it very difficult to care about much else than Trust. “No.”

“No?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Sleep here, in my bed. I don’t want you gone, Trust.” He wasn’t about to offer some pretense about her being injured, or if it was too dangerous for her to be out right now, he just wanted her with him. He didn’t know if he would be able to handle a night without her nearby.

“Oh. Okay,” she agreed, offering a little chuckle of disbelief. “W-where are you going to sleep?”

“There’s a couch in the living room,” he said, turning towards the door. “But I could also just sleep on the floor.”


“Sleep with me,” Trust flatly commanded.

Slackjaw, Sketch looked at her, looked at her face, to see if she was joking. But her face was dead still, neutral. It wasn’t a request. She told him to.

“I...” Sketch began to say, but his legs were already moving towards her.

He knew what she meant. They were just going to rest together, nothing was going to ‘happen’. But the words that were spoken had their meaning, and neither of them were making an effort to correct them.

“Okay,” he agreed, silently climbing into bed with her. They were both under the covers soon, only heads and necks exposed, both staring at each other with blank expressions, both waiting for the other to make the first move. The standoff ended with Trust sliding below the covers, closer to Sketch, and wrapping her forelegs around his neck. She rested her head just below Sketch’s chin, her muzzle barely touching the base of his neck. She closed her eyes.

Sketch scrutinized the wall in front of him, dealing with the fact he could feel Trust and not see her. A sensation he had no idea he would get to know.

He actually began to drift away, before Trust broke the silence.

“Sketch?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever almost die again, ‘kay?”

“Deal.”



The front door opened.

That didn’t make sense.

Sketch tore himself away from the back of Trust’s mane and looked at the time. 6:57 AM. His dad leaves for work at 8:00 AM. His mother doesn’t work on saturdays. So why was the front door being opened? Sketch leapt off of bed, which turned into tumbling on the floor when the blanket caught his hind leg. The resulting fall spooked Trust awake. She shot up and yelp as the blanket shot off of her body. “What, where’s the fire?!”

As Sketch recovered, he looked back and shushed her. “Shh! Something’s up.” He slowly inched out of his door, making sure it latched behind him. He began hearing voices as he approached the stairs.

“A seventeen year old boy doesn’t just disappear! Canterlot is way to nice a place for somepony to be responsible, something might have happened to him.”

Oh no.

“You’re overreacting, dear. He probably spent the night at one of his friend’s place without telling us.”

“What friends?! He doesn’t have any friends his age!”

Sketch was panicking too much to be offended by that. He was clutching the railing so hard it might snap off. He kept telling himself that what he was hearing was a dream.

“There’s that Anthem fellow. He owns an apartment, he could be there.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us,” he heard his mom cry. “He... he wasn’t mad at us, was he? Did we do something to upset him?”

“He might have fallen asleep without intending. Anthem doesn’t know where we live, and he probably didn’t want to wake him up. Plus he’s an adult, he wouldn’t think we would worry.”

“...You said he was going on a date.” she said, quieter. “You don’t think he...”

Sketch could hear his dad throw up his hooves and blush. “Woah, woah, I was just teasing him. I didn’t know for sure.”

“Why didn’t you ask him? Why would you just let him go like that?!”

Sketch couldn’t take this anymore. He did this. He thought back on when he got home after his ‘date’ with Syntax. He went straight upstairs without even talking to his parents. They had thought he never came home. They went into his room to investigate, and he wasn’t there. He was a couple hours late because of the incident with the skyrail. He didn’t even check their room to see if they were home when he got back.

His parents had been out looking for him in the middle of the night for at least five hours. Worried sick. “Oh no...” he whispered under his breath.

“Do you know where Anthem lives? We should ask around and see if we can-”

“Mom, Dad?” Sketch asked, as he trudged down the stairs. “I’m... I’m home.”

His mother gasped, pulling her hooves over her mouth and tears instantly forming in her eyes. His dad simply let out a guttural sigh of relief, a small unsure smile stretching across his tired features.

Sketch opened his mouth to begin explaining himself, but was interrupted by a terminal velocity mother coming in for a mach hug. ‘Mo-MGGHH!” he groaned in pain as the events of last night stabbed him over and over.

His mom’s eyes went wide, and she immediately went to inspect his body. Almost like she was a nurse or something, she expertly pulled fur back in commonly inflicted areas, and gasped when she saw horrific bruises around his chest and stomach. “Sketch! What on earth-?”

“Where were you, Arthur? What happened?” his dad asked, obviously trying to mask the irrational anger he was feeling.

This was it. The truth or a lie. The whole world stopped as he contemplated the decision. He thought about many things: consequences and loyalties, but everything stopped when Syntax entered his mind. He was done with being lied to. The least he could do was try and tell them the truth. He wouldn’t let them know about Trust or Royal of course, but it was the truth all the same. Just a... colored version of the truth. He couldn’t afford to keep it black and white.

“I was riding the skyrail with some friends. It...” Sketch sighed, knowing what he said next would probably send his mom into a panic. “It fell apart while I was on it.”

“What?!” his father bellowed, his misplaced anger now firmly in the faulty equipment instead of Sketch. 

“Oh Celestia! Are you, are you okay?!” his mom screamed, as if that made him any better.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured, stretching the truth a bit more. “Nothing’s broken.” An idea popped inside his head, one that would appease everyone. “It took me a while to find a way back into Canterlot after the tram hit the ground. It’s why I’m so late. I got home about three and I thought that you two were already asleep, so I just went to bed.”

“Why wouldn’t you wake us up?” his dad asked, but his mom waved him off.

“What would he have done if he saw we weren’t home? Go out looking for us?” she asked, arching her brow.

“No, but why-... nevermind, I’m just glad you’re okay,” his dad sighed one more time and walked up to him, giving him a quick hug.

“Sketch, go ahead to bed. You don’t have to go to school today,” she said, giving him the sweetest smile she could muster.

“Today’s saturday, Mom.”

“Even better!” she giggled. “It looks like you just have some bruising, but we’ll take you to the doctor tomorrow for a checkup just in case,”

Sketch really didn’t want to, but he was really content on cashing in on this. No point in continuing to gamble, his last hand was pretty terrible. “Thanks.”

“You know, you’re absurdly lucky getting off with just bruises after a skyrail crash.”

As he trudged up the stairs, he gave a weak chuckle. “I think it would’ve been more lucky if I wasn’t in the skyrail at all, when it happened.”

He walked back into his room, sighing in relief. That all went slightly better than he thought, which was a godsend after the fiasco with Syntax. Though he was still left disappointed after all.

Trust had left. Of course she did.