//------------------------------//
// Chapter 50 - Sensation 
// Story: Sensation (SFW Version) 
// by Vivid Syntax 
//------------------------------//


* * * * *


"Soarin'! You–" My fur has bristled, and I narrowly stop myself from screaming what I've just learned in the middle of a Cloudsdale street. My nerves buzz all the way down my stiff legs to my hooves, and my shirt clings to me through my cold sweat. I narrowly swallow my exclamation and glance around. Nopony is out but us, so I lean in with a harsh whisper. "You were assaulted?"

Soarin's eyes have gone dark, but even in the dim starlight, I see his pupils fixated on me. He broods without speaking.

I take a deep breath and step closer. "Soarin', why didn't you tell anypony? Why didn't the Wonderbolts–"

Flatly, he asks, "Do you really have to ask?"

I freeze, one leg lifted in a step towards him. My jaw goes slack, and a shiver runs down my neck.

Soarin' sneers. "They'd been through scandal after scandal with me, and fuck, they didn't even know what had happened. They didn't want to admit they'd let security fail, and besides, they didn't know better. By the time the media was forcing them to say something, they went with their best guess: chemical misfire with the fireworks. It's the sort of thing that just happens from time to time, something that diffuses blame so much that they can't pin it on anypony, and then the story dies." He shrugs. "And it fit. Spotlight must have been chloroformed or something, and the chemicals would have explained my wobbly flight pattern and late entrance – who's to say I wasn't just trying to escape a cloud of noxious gas?"

I set my hoof down and shake my head. My cheeks twitch. "B-but–" Focus! "But Fire Streak knew. He saw you bleeding."

"Fire Streak smelled me bleeding, and even then, he wasn't sure. Nopony was, and it messed him up bad." Soarin' meekly shakes his head. "Even now he's still convinced it was his fault, that he let it happen." With a wry smile, he adds, "He's lucky I know a good psychologist."

I feel pins and needles everywhere on my body, even in my tail. "Soarin', how could you not tell–"

"I had other things on my mind," he snaps. 

I snap back, "But what if Bronze–"

"Big picture, dude. The organization has to protect itself. It's a symbol for all of Equestria, and as much as it sucks, that symbol has value. We don't have the luxury of making mistakes, but accidents happen. Ponies forgive accidents."

I frown. "But it wasn't an accident."

"Heh. I told you so."


* * * * *


'Keep breathing.'

It's the last, most basic part of our training. If everything goes wrong, no matter what the situation, we give our fliers one final directive: keep breathing.

As I sucked in a wet, metallic breath, I felt a small poke at my chest, and it reminded me that I wasn't alone. 'Braeburn, help me.' Every time my chest expanded, I felt it again, prodding me and keeping me at the edge of consciousness. I forcefully pulled in air, and a lot of liquid along with it, so that I could feel that poke again.

It all happened fast, but I remember every detail so vividly. My eyelids fluttered open and closed, and seeing my legs made me sick. Sharp Spotter lay in a heap next to me, still shivering. His voice was the only thing I could hear over the ringing in my ears. I wanted to scream, too, but my body wouldn't move, and I couldn't find my voice. My eyelids closed again. 'Don't lose consciousness. Keep breathing.' When they opened again, I could see the trapdoor out of the corner of my eye. Medics were dashing there to check on Spotlight. I saw the audience part like water against a rock, but soon, my view was blocked by the first responders that descended to us.

As I passed out, I told myself again, 'Keep breathing.'

After that, I remember… motion. A lot of it. It was familiar to me, but it all felt wrong, like I was at the end of a long, flowing rope that whipped me around whenever it curved. My body felt impossibly long, like my head was tied to the rope and my hooves were still back at the stadium. My tail was mashed against my ass, and the air tasted salty, then fresh, and then stale and sterile. I was lifted at some point, and there was so much screaming and yelling, a mix of panicked, blood-curdling shrieks and distressingly calm, direct shouts that flew across the edges of my perception. 

The motion started again, and again, I blacked out.

The feeling was different by the time I noticed the world again. Everything was cold except for my middle. A breeze was blowing from somewhere, but I couldn't tell what part of my body it was touching. There were sirens. More calm shouts, all with the background of a piercing, ringing noise that I could feel at the bottom of my stomach. I was on my back, and whatever I was lying on – I think I was on a gurney at that point – it was moving.

It felt like I was falling, headfirst and backwards and going on forever. The air warmed as I heard a whoomp and felt a bump under the gurney, and then everything rumbled as the wheels passed onto a hard floor.

I… think I'd realized we were at the hospital, because I remember thinking, 'Let me see Braeburn.'

I could taste again. Still blood. With a groan, I wiggled. My back muscles were killing me, like right after you wake up from sleeping on it wrong. I mentally explored my body, and then I realized that I was shaking. Hallway lights zipped past us above, but I could only see the flashes through my eyelids. My eyes wouldn't open, and when I blearily, instinctively tried to shield them from the light with a hoof, a sharp, cold pain reminded me how badly my forelegs had been injured.

I tried to scream, and all that came out was a wet gurgle and a cough that felt like it was ripping my lungs from my body, and the motion still didn't stop.

A stallion's voice boomed, "Patient is conscious. History of concussion."

A mare's stiff voice responded, "Administer the coma scale."

"Yes, doctor."

My head felt like it was wobbling uncontrollably, but in reality, I think it was moving just a few degrees. Knots had formed all over my stomach and my chest, and I yelled inside my head, 'Stop being so calm!'

The stallion spoke clearly. I had no idea what he had said, and when I tried to answer, my mouth refused to move.

The nurse said again, "Soarin'! Can you understand me, Soarin' Windsong."

Like I was hoisting a cart of apples with just my neck, I swiveled my head towards him. My jaw went slack, and my eyes cracked open, but not quite enough to see, and for just a second, my body felt like it was all in one place again. I could tell where the two ponies were, but that clarity fled from my body as quickly as it had come. Before I could lose it completely, I responded with the first thing that came to mind. "Breathing. I'm breathing." My throat began to seal up, and sucking in another breath, I said, "Is Applebutt– Is Braeburn ok–" My head slumped back onto a stiff pillow, and the shock rattled my throbbing skull.

The nurse quickly rattled off diagnostics. "Four. Responds to name, eyes open semi-voluntarily."

The gurney slowed and turned a corner. The g-forces on that turn felt stronger than anything I'd ever experienced while flying. 

The doctor pushed the cart again. She barked, "Good. Sensitivity test, now!"

"Yes, doctor. Stage one." There was a slight pressure at the end of my left, hind hoof that I barely registered, and I didn't do anything. "No response. Stage two."

Something sharp jabbed me in the same spot, like he was jamming a knife between my hoof and my skin. My hind leg bucked out, and I managed a very clear, "Mother-fucker!" 

"Strong pain response."

The doctor said, "Good." She yelled past me, and I could feel the soundwaves ripple across my body and pound at my head. "Anesthesia! X-ray! Patient has history of concussion. Possible cerebral edema. Prep operating room for craniectomy."

I wanted to vomit. Even in my state, I knew that term: they were ready to crack open my skull if my brain had swollen and the pressure had built up. I wanted to look for a mirror, for something, just so I could understand what was happening, but my stupid eyes refused to open. Something black and vine-like gripped my heart, and I bellowed. "No! My head!"

"Shh, it's okay, Soarin'. You're in good hooves. Please relax."

'Who said that?' I thought.

I was dizzy. I threw my head side to side as much as I could, like I thought I could roll off the bed to safety. My neck ached from holding it up. I tried to keep flailing, but instead, my head started quaking, followed by my whole body. Bile rose up from my throat and mixed with the blood, creating a sour, vile flavor.

Two hooves grasped the sides of my head and forced it to turn sideways. Somepony wedged stiff pillows on either side of it. A tube dropped into my mouth, sucked away some fluid, and disappeared. My breathing turned ragged, and even as tears refused to come out of my eyes, I tried to sob. But I couldn't even do that. 'I'm broken.' I was in so much pain, but it was like the tears were caught in my throat.

Something was shoved into my mouth. A mouth guard, I think. My heart felt arrhythmic and like it was moments away from collapsing in on itself.

The world churned again, and we swung through giant double-doors with another whoomp. The thud sent a wave of vibrations through my body, and I nearly cried again. Nearly. I started to fade out. 'Keep breathing.'

Rrrrrrrip.

I forced my head up just enough, opened my eyes just barely, when I felt gentle pressure being relieved across my chest. I tried to crane my neck, but it was stuck in place, locked in with a strap that I hadn't noticed them put on. My visions was so blurry. All I could make out were basic shapes and colors, but I saw: the nurse was removing my flight suit with a pair of scissors, right up the middle. They were passing across my chest, right by the yellow stud I'd hidden inside.

"No! NO!" I mumbled around the mouth guard. "That's mine!"

The tears finally came. I tried to thrash around, but my legs were all tied down to something I couldn't see, and every time I tried, searing pain filled my whole body, like acid was being poured into my bloodstream. But I didn't stop, because as long as I was moving around, the nurse couldn't take him away from me. 'I need it! I need him!' My mouth had stopped working.

I tried to yell and throw the guard out of my mouth, but it was strapped down, too. I felt like a raindrop struggling against the sky, desperate not to fall. I knew I couldn't win, but I couldn't stop trying. And for the moment, I relished that they couldn't do anything as long as I kept moving.

"Anesthetize him."

"NO!!!" My screams had turned to hollow, powerless sobs.

I felt a quick jab to my flank, and my hind leg recoiled. A venomously soothing voice cooed, "Soarin', you'll be okay. Count back from ten. It'll be easier."

I thought I was dying. I knew I was dying. And I knew that if I passed out, I might never wake up. Every instinct told me to keep fighting, to keep breathing, but all too quickly, the poison spread. My flanks went numb, first one, then the other, and I felt my hind legs disappear like a cloud in the sun. My blood ran cold, then hot, then fuzzy. It felt like my blood was being replaced with soil, and dark, deadly plants were growing inside me, wrapping around each muscle and choking them off from feeling anything. My chest went out next, along with my wings. My heartbeat, which had been pounding for what seemed like hours, went silent. I didn't know if I was breathing anymore. I still couldn't see. The pain disappeared from my forelegs, and I would have given anything to feel it again.

I sobbed. I cried, because it felt like that was all that was left to me. I wailed, muffled by the mouth guard. Nothing in my body responded to me, and the dark plants crept up my neck. I sucked air through my teeth, or at least I thought I did. My throat went numb, and I couldn't even sob anymore. I had to try to feel the wind at my nostrils just to make sure I was alive. 'I don't want to die! I don't want to die!' My head fell back as the numbness spread to my jaw and the back of my head. 'YOU'RE KILLING ME!' Nothing came out. Nothing moved.

All I had were my eyes, and they felt heavy. I fought. I fought hard, putting everything into that last piece of me, but I had nothing left to draw on. Soon, my face was gone. 

I was crying deep in my soul. 'Don't take it. I need my Applebutt. I need you.'

As my eyelids relaxed without my permission, I forced them open for just one more moment, just long enough to see a nurse lifting away a torn piece of fabric with a tiny, yellow stud tucked inside, and then, the world went dark.

…

So… here's the thing.

…

Comas give you some really, really fucked-up dreams.

You never know how much time is passing, and every single dream feels like it's going on forever. And you have no guarantee that it won't go on forever. I'm told I was lucky – I realized, at least partly, what was happening to me when I was out. Supposedly, I could have told myself that none of it was real, that I would wake up. Again, though, how the fuck would I know that? 

The truth is, you don't know, and that's the scary part. I knew that what I was experiencing could be, at any moment, the last thought my brain would have before I flat-lined, and my dreams got absolutely visceral. They got nasty.

So, like… heads-up.

I think my very first one had me lying on my back in the dark, but like, I could see. I was screaming the whole time, but I couldn't feel my mouth move, and even if I couldn't feel pain, I knew I was supposed to feel pain, because whenever I looked down, I could see my skeleton ripping itself out of my body. It struggled against me, always getting caught up at my hooves, until it had ripped itself completely free and was floating above me. It left no wounds, but I still felt hollow. Then, it would start over again. I'd never see it go back in, just keep coming out, until it finally stayed outside me.

The skeleton floated above me, staring at me with its hollow, empty eye sockets for hours – literal hours – without doing anything, and even if I tried to close my eyes, I could still see it. I recognized the facial structure and the posture and the wing shape. There was no doubt about it – it was me.

And as scary as it was, I kept thinking, 'I hope Braeburn doesn't see this. He wouldn't like it.'

It started screaming at me. Just short shouts, like an infuriating chirp, once every few seconds, and it began floating closer to me. No matter how close it got, though, it never actually touched me, and it just kept getting closer, still shouting, and I couldn't look away, even as I felt dark hooves prod me all over.

They were Changelings. Insectoids, not even trying to hide who they were. A few bit into my skin in little parts of me, and they began wrapping me in a cocoon, starting with my forelegs. The skeleton kept screaming with perfect rhythm.

The Changelings must have gotten tired. They finally let go and disappeared after a day or so, or maybe it was just a few seconds.

I fell backwards again.

The skeleton floated above me in the perfect darkness, and its screams got more and more quiet. They didn't fade completely, though, and between its ghastly chirps, I heard it say, "I'm sorry," in my Dad's voice. Dad's form began to fill in, muscle by muscle around the skeleton, all the way through to his skin. I could see his frowning face, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't look away.

And… I need to be clear: that was not even close to the most gruesome dream I had while I was under. I'm just trying to spare you from having to live through it like I did. Or maybe I'm just trying to spare myself. I don't… I don't want to go back there.

At times, I was semi-conscious. I could hear machines beeping and whirring all around me. Sometimes, ponies would come in, but I never knew if they were real or if I was just dreaming. But they would touch me. They'd jab me and stroke me all over, checking for Luna-knows-what, and they were not shy about it. I could make out conversations sometimes, too. The doctor would come in and ask how I was feeling, and I'd mumble a response. They hardly ever understood what I was saying, and they were always happy when my eyes would open, even just for a few seconds. I didn't see what they were excited about – I couldn't see anything at all.

And then, I'd slip back out.

See, that's the thing about comas that most ponies don't understand. It's not like sleeping – you don't just wake up and have everything get magically better the first time you regain consciousness. It's different for everypony, and for me, it was like being constantly groggy. I was never all the way there. Instead, it was like being in that moment right after you wake up from a nightmare: your senses tell you one thing, but your brain is completely focused on another. For just that split second, you're caught between two realities, and you don't know which one you'll land in. I was in that space over and over and over again. It was exhausting, and as much as I wanted to wake up, it was so easy to fall back into the darkness, just shy of being truly asleep.

There was another dream. I think it was the night after the crash, when I'd been in the hospital for over a full day. I was soaring through the air above Fillydelphia at night, around and around and around again. I wasn't flying, though. My forelegs were wrapped in these long, flowing bolts of fabric. It was a smooth ride, at least, but we were still always moving. 

I looked up. There were faceless ponies, their backs to me and the bolts of fabric tied to their tails. I said, "Where are we going?" They didn't answer, so I called back, "Hey, where are we going? We've been doing this forever." They still didn't answer. I don't know anything about them, not even what they looked like. They were just husks: no color, no physical features, nothing. 

I grunted and turned back to the city below me. Squinting, I saw that there was nopony in the streets. Or anywhere, really. The lights were all on, but even after fifty, a hundred long, tireless laps around the city, there wasn't anypony. My ears flicked. No sound, either. And no wind, and the more I thought about it, the more my skin crawled, and the more my fur itched. I couldn't move my legs to scratch myself. 

With a nicker, I looked back up at the ponies. "There's gotta be somepony else–" My face scrunched up when I saw Fire Streak and Spitfire pulling me, racing through the sky. Not just with their wings, either, but with their legs, like they could pull me faster by galloping against the air. "Uh… guys?" They didn't respond. "Bro? …Sis?"

No answer, so I relaxed my head back. My heart skipped a beat when I realized that I would have had to turn my head all the way around to have looked at them, and my neck shouldn't have been able to do that. 

I shuddered without moving, and as I looked down over the city, I spotted the hospital. I thought, 'Bronze lied. Braeburn's okay. He would never be able to touch Braeburn again, not with all the support Applebutt has now.' But with nopony around to reassure me, my thoughts looped through all the thing that could have happened to him. 

I wondered if I was in the hospital, too. Not the real-world one, but like the one in my dream. It made sense to the groggy logic of my brain – I was still lying in the hospital, obviously, so I should go visit myself. I would have been lonely without somepony to keep me company, and who better than me?

After an hour of collecting my thoughts, I asked. "Could we dip into the hospital?" I looked again and frowned. It was my parents this time, and I already knew that they wouldn't turn around or say anything. In Dad's case, that might have been a blessing: I quickly looked back at the city when I thought I saw bones start to appear on his body. I sucked in a deep breath that didn't feel like it filled my lungs, and I forced myself to go back to worrying about Braeburn. 

I gave up looking behind me after that, except for when it got too boring flying around the city again for the thousandth time (and I'm not exaggerating). For a while, it was somepony different each time, but then it started repeating, and so I spent hours lazily floating around the city with nothing much else to do.

It got… pretty lonely up there.

Every once in a while, the painkillers would kick in, and I'd feel like I was soaring higher and, weirdly, like I was in a little more control. And that was the scary bit. I knew that I was a drugged up mess on the outside, but it felt so good to let them take me away. It staved off the nauseous feelings I had when I was mostly conscious, and it lessened the constant vertigo and motion. But I didn't want it. I wanted to escape. I just wanted to open my eyes and just fucking look around. Was I in a private room? What color were the blankets? How bad were my legs? I had no idea.

It felt… so close, too. I was fading back and forth between realities that kept crashing into each other. I was never one-hundred percent in one or the other, and they kept bleeding together, leaving me on the edge of my nightmare.

Like, at one point, I was convinced I was fully conscious. I was surprised that I was able to actually roll over all the way, but then, I rolled right out of the bed and fell through the floor. It wasn't hard – it was made of cloud – but I fell right through. I kept falling while it rained unicorns and earth ponies with me, most of them on fire or just glowing brightly against a midday sky that shone with black light. At that point, I still didn't realize it was another hallucination. The other ponies all laughed and shouted at me, asking how it felt to fall through and not feel safe up there.

They weren't all yelling, though. Braeburn was there, falling with me. I tried to fall towards him, but I couldn't get the wind under my wings. Braeburn was crying. He was reaching out to me, too, but he was stuck far away. And he was apologizing, and I was apologizing, our voices torn away by the shrieking wind, and we kept falling and falling until Bronze – the only pony who was able to fly – swooped in and took Braeburn away from me.

I was so tired… 

Heh. At least… when Braeburn didn't struggle against Bronze, I knew it was a dream. Night fell in that world, and I was falling alone.

Motion. There was always that damn motion, no matter which reality I was in. I wanted to stop, to just breathe, but I was always moving, with only the rhythmic groans of the stars to keep me company.

I felt every tick of the clock, and hours later, the noises around me grew. It was a buzzing this time. It replaced the ringing in my ears, and my heart iced over when I heard a voice that was just wrong. "It's jusssst Doctor Mender, Ssssoarin'. You up?"

'She's a Changeling.' My tail tried to swish. My eyes tried to open, and my wings tried to unfurl. None of them did, and I could feel her hard cocoon wrapped tightly around my forelegs.

She hissed, "You're okay, and you can relax. I just need another sample." Within seconds, she bit me right on the side of the neck. I felt cold as she drained me, and as I panicked without moving, I could almost hear other Changelings buzzing just outside of earshot. I tried to struggle again, but my body wouldn't have it. 

"All done," she droned. "Did you feel anything?"

I hadn't screamed, because I'd forgotten I had a voice. My ability to speak only occurred to me after she'd asked. "Cold," I groaned. My voice buzzed like hers. "It hurts." I tried to figure out if I'd been replaced with a Changeling while I'd been asleep, and I wondered how they would have gotten one of them inside my own body.

"Cold, Soarin'?"

I thought about lying, but then, what did I really have to lose by being honest? "…Yeah."

She said something, but I didn't process it.

'Do Changelings get cold?' I felt a strong heat envelope me, and I drifted off again.

Sideways this time. Still moving, but at least it was a new direction. I fell towards my right side, and my wings were gone. I wasn't an earth pony, though – I didn't feel extra strength or anything. I felt like a pile of used nothing, still strapped to a bed that was upside down and falling sideways, facing the ground. I was in the desert this time, and from the sandstone mounds, I recognized the scenery as being outside Appleloosa. I could taste the sand and feel the grit in my fur as the ground raced below me. It was late afternoon, and even if the world looked beautiful and serene, my chest seized up as my eyes locked onto a yellow smudge that slowly came into focus.

Braeburn raced along with me, as fast as he could, about a meter below me between the bed and the ground. He was crying. And shouting. As I tumbled sideways, I could only hear a few words between the throbbing hoofbeats against the ground. "…don't leave me." The wind whipped at his red, puffy eyes, but he didn't look away from me. I could see him even though my eyes were closed. "…gotta stay with me, Blue."

I wanted to open my eyes, just for him. Part of me knew it wasn't real, but even if this Braeburn's concern for me was a hallucination based on a memory, I still wanted to see him smile. My muscles refused to move, though, and the more I failed, the more fatigued I felt.

I could feel him there, though. The short distance between us felt like it stretched on forever, and even if my body wouldn't move, I reached out with my heart. I arched my back and tried to fly closer through sheer force of will, and slowly, it worked. A little. As I thought harder and harder about floating downwards, my head felt like it was splitting in half, but I moved closer. The bed drifted towards Braeburn while he ran at lightning speeds, kicking up a giant dust storm behind him.

I was close. So close. But I couldn't reach him myself. For a moment, I wanted to give up on everything, on… life.

But Braeburn lifted his nose and touched my chest, and it felt like he'd draped a blanket over me on a cold night. I cried immediately, because I couldn't touch him back. Nothing I did could force my stupid legs to move. I strained against my restraints, and my bones felt like they had turned to sand. They ground together inside me, but I didn't care. I wanted to touch him, hold him. But I couldn't move.

Something dark clouded my vision. I whimpered, and dusk began to fall. Braeburn was panting and sobbing, and he was falling behind, but he didn't stop running. I strained and pulled and gritted my teeth against the pain and against what was happening, but night fell all the same. The wide open skies of Appleloosa's desert gave way to the same, rhythmic groaning of the stars that I'd gotten used to, and the scene went blurry. I wanted to scream anything that would let him know I was there, so that he wouldn't feel so alone or like I was abandoning him. I wanted to touch him more than I wanted to breathe.

So Braeburn leapt. Just as I thought he'd tumble to the ground and roll out of sight, he grabbed me around my neck. His legs dangled below me, narrowly skimming the dirt, and he clung to me tightly. For a second, I thought he was another Changeling, but then he wrapped his mouth around my ear, just like I'd done to him so many times. My eyes rolled back into my head as I let out a long, calming breath. The cold fear drained from my body, replaced with dizzying warmth. Braeburn whispered into my ear, "Love you, Soarin'."

And I shuddered. 'This feels real.' That thought echoed in my hollow head for a few silent moments. But I didn't know for sure. I didn't know if I wanted it to be real. It could have been another Changeling or a figment of my fractured brain, one of the realities crashing into the other. I wanted so badly for him to be there, but even then, in that space, flying sideways and restrained, I knew my brain was injured. I knew that Braeburn might really be there, or he might be in a hospital bed half a day's journey away or even back in Appleloosa. Was it real? Or was I fooling myself? And what would it even mean for him to be there? How would he have known I was in trouble? How long had it even been? 

And… It couldn't be healthy for him to see me so soon, right?

In the few seconds he clung to me, I decided. I… I didn't want Braeburn there. I didn't want him to worry, to see me like that. I didn't want him to know what had happened or to blame himself. I wanted him to be safe, and so I sighed and let my body go slack. In some ways, it felt like giving up, but in others, it felt like I got to free him again. Wordlessly, Braeburn let go, too, and before long, the dust behind him settled, leaving me alone in the dark desert.

It felt like saying goodbye all over again. Nausea overtook me, and I finally had some control of my body again. I pulled as much air into my lungs as I could, and I screamed so loudly I thought my throat would rupture. But it was silent. Everything was. I screamed again. No sound. Nothing. The quiet echoed across the sands, bounced off the hills, and came back to me in the unnerving stillness.

For what felt like hours, I didn't hear a sound.

I thought, 'This is it. This is how it ends. I stay trapped here, in and out of a coma forever, and I don't even get to know what's real.' I kept screaming silently, cursing myself and wishing I was dead.

I heard above me, "I'll be right here, Big Blue." 

'Dammit!' I screamed in my head. My chest tightened. I just wanted to know. I had to know if it was real.

My blood boiled. I felt delirious, guided by nothing but my instincts. I felt him above me or behind me or somewhere, and I had to know if it was really him echoing across the deep blue sky. I tried to thrash my body again, to do anything to turn the bed upright, but nothing worked. I gulped air like I was drowning, and I screamed again, trying to force the bed around.

If I couldn't figure out if he was real, then I knew I'd never get better. I wouldn't want to get better, but if there was a chance that Braeburn was there – if there was a chance that I could find out if it was real – then I had to take it. I focused all my willpower. It felt like joining a puzzle together using just my tail and with half the pieces missing. I tried to move my body again, and it refused, but I didn't stop. 

"Love you, Blue."

It stung. There was no proof that it was real, and no real reason left to hope. I told myself that I was setting myself up for disappointment, that Braeburn and I had broken up and that he needed to be far away, where he wouldn't worry about me, and that it didn't make sense for him to be by my side so quickly. But I couldn't stop myself. I had to know. I had to chase that voice.

With a silent, guttural shout, I yanked the bed with my right foreleg. It sent shooting pain all through my body, but all that did was make me want it more. As I focused, the bed finally began to rotate, or maybe the whole world spun around me, and my heart fluttered as I felt like I had the slightest bit of control. I heard him above me again, and with more soundless yelling into the void, I righted the bed and saw the stars.

They were beautiful, but there was one in particular that I focused on. Hope welled in my chest. Tears flew from my face in zero-gravity bubbles, trailing to my side. I didn't need my wings to fly. The bed began to move upwards towards a sparkling, yellow star. My momentum shifted, degree by degree. I wasn't just falling sideways anymore. I was falling sideways and slightly upward. I felt nauseous, but I kept pulling, and then, I was going upwards just a little more. Each little shift rattled my skull and seared my brain. I wanted to quit – it hurt so much to keep forcing myself upwards. It was like a vice on my head, squeezing my perceptions into a condensed black hole of pain, but I needed to know if that yellow star was real.

And it grew brighter as I pulled the bed further upwards. The closer I got, the more the fear raced through my blood, cold and merciless. 'He has to be real.' I pushed all those doubts away. 'He's real. I'm coming, Braeburn.' I felt warm again, and I sensed pain all through my body, but I picked up speed. The star grew brighter, bigger. It filled my view as everything else fell away behind me. The searing pain burned stronger as feeling came back to my body, and I embraced it. I wanted my reality back, even if it hurt. I wanted the golden pony who was waiting for me.

And soon, I reached the star. 

It was like hugging the sunrise – beautiful and burning and complete.  I felt the fire burn away all the false realities, all the falling and the motion and the Changelings and the fake cities and the faceless ponies. It left nothing but my own reality, and for the first time in days, I fully opened my eyes of my own accord.

I sucked in a breath as it all took focus, like I was being born again. Moonlight shined in through the curtains of my hospital room. At either side of my vision, I could see my forelegs, held up and fixed with casts. To the side of my bed, machines blinked like stars and beeped with rhythmic groans that matched my heartbeat. But I didn't care. I smiled as my eyes focused. I was ready for him. I knew he was waiting for me. I'd heard him. He loved me, and he'd come for me. I took in another deep breath, smiled as wide as I could, and looked. And Braeburn…





…





…wasn't there.