//------------------------------//
// The Bulk in Our Biceps: Part 2 
// Story: Sweet Dreams, LLP 
// by AnchorsAway 
//------------------------------//

“That’s pathetic, Biceps. Is that what you call effort?” 
The old, grizzled minotaur was mere inches away from Bulk Bicep's face, spittle flying from his saggy cheeks with every condemnation. His one good eye, wild and red, rolled in its socket.
“Why, I’ve seen breezies with more determination than you, Biceps. Are you telling me you came all this way for nothing?” 
“I can do it, Coach,” Bulk Biceps insisted, bearing the overladen barbell between his hooves and heaving with all his might. 
Luna stood on the sidelines among throngs of spectators. She watched with calm observation as the pegasus struggled fruitlessly, veins popping out his forehead like roots of a great tree and sweat beading on his eggshell-white coat. Still, the bar didn't budge. 
“This is it, Biceps. This is the championship,” the minotaur grunted, waving over the crowd that packed the stadium. “Are you telling me you’re going to wimp out now, in front of all these ponies?” 
“No, Coach,” Bulk puffed through his clenched teeth. Luna could see he was giving it his all, his close-cropped golden mane quivering with spasms that bounded up his back. He pulled harder and harder for the same conclusion. The barbell refused to budge. 
Bulk squatted low, spreading his hooves and lifting with all his might. His eyes bulged till they were red, his biceps rippling beneath his skin, and his little wings flapped madly. But still, the bar did not move. 
The crowd was beginning to murmur around Luna. Gone were the sporadic whistles and cheers of excitement. The judges, slack-eyed ponies in suits, watched with little interest at the alabaster pegasus standing his ground, giving the bar everything he had and then more.
“Pathetic,” the minotaur snorted, shaking his head. “I knew I should have put in that Apple stallion instead of you. He might not talk much, but at least he knows what real effort is,” Coach added before stomping off the spotlight court. "No will–" he snorted "–no way."
“No, no! Coach!” Bulk cried after the minotaur, refusing to let go of the bar. The murmurs in the crowd had reduced to whispers, and the judges were looking expectantly toward the referee. Luna could tell they didn’t want to waste any more time. Bulk was seconds away from forfeit.
But before Luna could even step from the grandstand, to reach out to her patient in need, a call echoed over the crowd.
“You can do it, Bulky!”
Bulk’s ears perked up, and he turned his wet eyes toward the source.
Luna spotted her high in the stands. She was an old mare, petite glasses perched on her snout, and a purse clutched in her wrinkled hooves. She could have been anypony's granny, was it not for the fact that she was ripped from head to hoof. She was a specimen of muscle, a sculpture of brawn. 
She was standing above the others, hooves that were dwarfed by her biceps cupped around her muzzle.
“You can do it, Bulk! Grandma knows you can!”
Bulk's head bowed beneath the stadium lights, his face concealed by his shadow. He sized the barbell at his hooves, glancing at the enormous weights secured at either end.
"Show them what Grandma taught you," the old mare growled from high above.
The words gripped Bulk, electrifying the pegasus like a bolt of lightning. He reached down, seizing the bar in his hooves and spreading his hindlegs like steel columns.
He pulled and strained until he cried out, his roar echoing around the packed stadium. The crowd had shifted; everypony's eyes were focused on the weight clutched in his iron grasp. 
One inch, then two – Luna witnessed a sliver of space as the bar lifted off the mat, Bulk’s teeth clenched tight.
“That’s my grandson!” the old mare shouted with glee, pointing for everypony around her to see. They had joined her, the ponies in the stands whistling and cheering for him. Their hooves stomped and stamped on the wood, the stadium filled with the clatter till the lights overhead swayed. 
Even Luna had to offer her own words of encouragement. 
“She believes in you, Bulk.” She called out to him, the bar hovering at chest level, bending beneath the mighty weights. “Do it for her,” Luna bid, pointing to the old mare. “For what she means to you.”
With a roar that rivaled a lion, the barbell swung over his head, Bulk presenting if for the enamored spectators, and he held it triumphantly for them all to see. The audience erupted, Grandma in the stands jumping up and down, hugging several of the excited onlookers in her massive forelegs. Bulk held on tight, the bar refusing to waver, his grip strong and firm. The judges had their champion.
Yet Luna noted Bulk's eyes were not focused on the wild crowds, or the judges raising their scorecards. His attention was reserved for only a single pony in the stands.



It wasn't until after the awards were handed out, and the crowd had thinned, that Luna was able to approach the champion.	
“Amazing performance,” Luna congratulated, nodding to the gold medal around Bulk’s thick neck. “Words I think will mean more if it comes from her.”
Princess Luna stepped aside as the old mare ran up to him, wrapping a beefy foreleg around the stallion. “Grandma is so proud of you, dearie. I knew you had it in you.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” He breathed breathlessly, returning the embrace. “And thank you for the words of encouragement, Doctor,” he said, looking toward Luna.
“It was hardly my words that helped you,” Luna claimed. “You had it in you. It sometimes takes a little encouragement from the ones we love to remind of what we are capable of.” She smiled, admired the gleaming medal. “But this was not why we were here, is it, Bulk,” she revealed. “No, you have all the support you need here,” Luna admitted, gesturing to Grandma Biceps. “This isn’t something to fear. This is a celebration. So, where are these nightmares hiding, Bulk?”
Grandma Biceps clutched the big stallion tight, oblivious to the alicorn beside her. “If they could be here now," she sighed softly. "I know they would be so proud of you, too, Bulky.”
“What did you say, Grandma?” Bulk wondered as something cold touch Luna's hooves.
The Princess looked down, a thin shimmer of water covering the floor of the stadium.
"Who would be proud of me, Grandma?" Bulk Biceps asked again, water suddenly rising to slosh at his ankles. "W–Who?" He could hardly notice the water that was rising to swallow them. 
“Gilbert, we’re here,” Luna called out, watching the water quickly rising around them. It was pouring in, flooding the stadium, cold and bone-numbing. “We are on the verge of a full-blown nightmare. Are you reading this, Gilbert? Gilbert?”



“Do yous thinks he is deads?”
“He sure looks like it.”
“Gilbert, that’s a terrible thing to say!”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” the big bird wondered. “'Gee, that sure is a lot of blood. Just walk it off,’ doesn’t exactly sound positive, does it now, Pepper. Trust me; I've seen a dead body before. New guy definitely bit the big one, boys.”
"How would you knows what dead bodies would look like," Broodly gripped. "You never leaves this place as it is, you hermit!"
"Just–" the griffon paused and reached a claw down, pressing it against Bright Shine's neck. He waited several seconds, his eyes searching. "Shit!" he exclaimed, pulling his claw back and running a paw through his feathers. He started to pace the dream chamber.
For a moment, they stood anxiously around Bright Shine’s still form. He hadn't moved from where he had been thrown, Bulk Biceps quietly murmuring in the throughs of his dream behind them. A thin stream of dark red had dried where it had leaked from Bright Shine's ear.
“What are we’s going to do?” Broodly nibbled on a hoof, finally breaking the silence. “Does anypony knows he’s here? Are they going to come looking for Bright Shine?”
“I don’t know," Gilbert piped, throwing his paws in the air. "Do your manuals have anything about where to dump a body, Pepper?” Gilbert scratched a sweaty claw at his neck, a fresh cloud of molting feathers swirling around him. 
“They’re dream manuals for Celestia's sake, Gilbert,” Pepper snorted snidely. “Not body dumping manuals. I can't believe you.”
“Oh, we’s are so goings to prison. I can’t go to prisons.” Brood covered his orange eyes with his hooves, huffing silent tears. “Not again. I don’t want to be the little ‘bath bat.’”
“Just calm down. Everypony, just calm down!” Gilbert squawked. “Nopony is going to find out. Nopony is going to prison. Nopony is going to be... whatever Broodly was,” he said, producing more weeping from the scarred bat pony. “Pepper, you grab his front. Broodly, pull yourself together and take the rear. I know somepony who can make all this like it never happened. Even the Doc won't be the wiser.”


	 
“Wait!” Luna called out to Bulk. 
But if he heard her, he had no intention of stopping. He sloshed through the floodwaters that reach to his chest, the stallion forcing his way through the current. 
“Bulk, you can’t run from your nightmares. You have to face them, just like lifting that barbell.”
“It isn’t the same!” Bulk called back as he waded through the empty stadium concourse. The crowds were gone, the celebration over, nopony in sight. The clouds boiled an angry back outside, painting the windows of the stadium with fat raindrops.
“But you don’t even know what you are afraid of," Luna pleaded. "Tell me, what is it that you are so afraid of? Is it the water?” 
“I–I don’t know,” he admitted, the water reaching his broad shoulders. “I just know that I can’t do it; I can’t face it.”
Luna horn glowed, the air around her tingling with magic. She was tired of running, of swimming through the cold water that bit at her coat.
“Stop!” she commanding, teleporting in front of the charging stallion with a mighty splash.
Bulk Bicep's head tucked itself between his muscular forelegs, shielding himself from Luna. His eyes were shut tight, but she could still see the stains beneath them. 
She had been the audience to many nightmares: all drew on some form of fear. But this was different, she could see – this was no rational fear. The tears alone told her that. Ponies, or any other creature, never cried in dreams from normal, instinctual fear.
“It’s memories,” she said, standing over Bulk. “I should have seen this before. Your fear is centered around memories.”
“But I don’t remember what they are, or what the water is supposed to be,” Bulk sniffled through his forelegs, floating in the floodwater. "I just want to get over them."
“That’s ok,” Luna told him, stroking his bristly mane with a tender hoof. “That's what we're here for. You have help.” She stood up, wading to a door set into the stadium wall. “You still carry those forgotten memories within you, but your fear is keeping them from you. We just have to go deeper – deeper into the subconscious.” 
Luna twisted the knob, pulling the door open to reveal a fresh torrent of water. It poured through like a river, gurgling with power. Bulk’s intense red eyes lifted from his hooves, gazing into the mute light of the flooded doorway. 
Luna could see it his eyes; this was taking him someplace familiar. Just what they needed to break through the repression.
“I can open this door,” she explained. “But the next one – the one that counts – that has to be you, Bulk. Only you can open that final door and face what haunts you.”
“I’ll" – he swam cautiously toward her – "I’ll try.” The water was at their necks.
“That’s all we need,” Luna said, beckoning him through the door. "I'm right behind you."
With a deep breath and a shiver from the cold water, Bulk swam through the flooded door.



“Bulky!” 
The old mare greeted them with a smile. She trotted into the quaintly decorated living room, hair pulled into a bun, glasses perched on her wrinkled nose, and a tank top on, reveling her sinewy muscles. “You made it home right in the nick of time. I just put a tray of cookies in the oven,” she said, wrapping the colossal stallion in a bear hug and lifting him off the floor. "And look at this," the old mare beamed. "You brought a friend."
“Everything is exactly how I left it this morning,” Bulk squeaked, the air crushed from his lungs. “It seems so real, Doc.”
“Home is always the most detailed construct in our mind,” Luna told him. She slowly walked around the living room, admiring the many mementos decorating the mantle place.
Grandma Biceps set him down, allowing him to breathe again. “Why don’t you spot Grandma while the cookies are finishing up,” she said, quickly laying down on the weight bench in the corner. She grasped the bar tight, weathered wings splayed as she cranked out long extended reps. Bulk obediently spotted the old mare, watching that it would not fall. Even if he knew her strength had never failed before, even in age.
Luna browsed over the mantle, observing medals, pictures both new and old. “They’re all of you,” Luna pointed. 
“I don’t like to show them off as much,” Bulk shrugged, his face glowing a bare hint of pink. “But she does. Grandma shows them to anypony who stops by.”
“She must be pretty proud of all you have accomplished.” She read the awards aloud as she passed them. “Strong Stallion Champion, Mr. Ponyville, Iron Will Award, Professional Masseur License…”
Ding-dong!
The doorbell chimed, a cold quiet following in its presence. Luna looked to the door, a soft rain pattering against the frosted window. 
Dark figures waited outside.
The time had arrived. 
Bulk had to have known, too. The stallion was as stiff as a board, frozen where he stood.
“Those cookies are probably ready by now,” Grandma Biceps proclaimed, racking her weight and sliding off the bench. “Why don’t you see who is at the door, Bulk.” She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.
Luna moved silently across the living room to stand beside the door.
“It’s time, Bulk,” Luna said.
Bulk gulped, petrified before the entrance, eyes wide, unmoving. “I–I know. I think I've been here before. But I’ve never been able to open the door.”
“You have to believe in yourself," Luna proclaimed. "Your subconscious might be telling you that you can’t open that door, or that you're not strong enough to face what is on the other side. But you know that deep down inside, you, the real you – the one right here and now – can face what lies beyond here," she said, placing a hoof on the door jamb. A thin trickle of water seeped below the bottom seal. 
"Your subconscious influences your every choice, Bulk, but it is you that gets the final say. You get to decide. So what do you want to say?”
“I – I’m ready.” 
“I opened the first door, but this one has to be you." She stepped aside.
Bulk Bicep’s hoof firmly grasped the bronze knob. He twisted it, the door sliding inward to reveal their guests. Two black figures stood, waiting, at the foot of the steps. The featureless figures dripped with the steady rain that poured from the sky.
Bulk shook but held his ground.
“You're not afraid of these ponies, are you, Bulk?” Luna wondered, peering into their featureless faces.
“No,” he gulped.
“But you are afraid of what they mean, of the memory that they represent.”
He nodded curtly.
“I think its time you remember what that memory was. Go to them,” she said, delivering a gentle nudge with her wing.
One step, then two – Bulk slowly crept onto the porch. His hoofsteps were heavy, each one a battle as he inched down the steps toward the black ponies. Their features were forgotten, waiting to be remembered. Their eyes were the only thing visible, twin beams of bright light that gazed through the rain upon the stallion that stopped before them. He stood, shaking from his ears to his cropped tail in the downpour.
“Now what?” he gasped, not daring to tear his gaze from the black ponies.
“Tell them,” Luna commanded. “Tell them what they need to hear. The words have been on the tip of your tongue this whole time, Bulk. Let them hear.”
Bulk drew in a deep breath. His lungs were burning, and his stomach was doing flips, but he stood his ground. The words were there, ready to be released. He was ready.
“Don’t leave me.”
The stallion at the foot of the porch, once large enough to block a door, was a pale, skinny foal quivering in the rain. One of the figures before him reached out with a gentle hoof, stroking the wet side of his face.
“We’re sorry,” the figure spoke with the soft voice of a mare. It knelt down, the curtain of shadow wafting away till the mare behind it was visible at last. She wrapped a foreleg tight around little Bulk, drawing him close till his head rested on her blond, soaked mane. “Mamma and Pappa are so sorry, Bulk.”
“Please, don’t go,” Bulk begged, clutching her tight. “Why are you leaving me?” he wondered. “What did I do wrong?”
The second figure was beside him, an azure stallion with a neatly trimmed beard that dripped. “Listen to me, Bulk,” his voice stern as he lifted the colt's head. “None of this was your fault. Do you hear me?” the stallion spoke, quickly wiping a stray droplet that ran down his glasses. “This was Mamma’s and Pappa’s mistakes. And we’re going to fix them. But we have to leave you with Grandma for a while. Just until we fix them.”
“But I don’t understand!” Bulk wept, his tears mixing with the rain.
“Penstroke,” the mare urged him. “We have to hurry. Any longer and they might find us. We have to leave.”
“Just hold on, Parchment,” he begged, gripping Bulk tight. “Look at me, son,” he ordered. “I know you don’t understand, but we’re going to make everything right. Then we will be back as soon as we can,” he said. “Until then, you have to be strong. Be strong for Mamma and Pappa.”
“I will be strong!” Bulk cried, refusing to let go. “I promise I’ll be strong, just don’t leave me!”
Parchment, with great pain, pulled little Bulk free of Penstroke, quickly sliding his tiny saddlebags with all he had left in the world on him. “We’ll call when we’re safe,” she said to Grandma Biceps standing reverently on the porch. Luna watched the mother try her hardest not to look back at the weeping foal on the porch steps. Together she and her husband dashed for the waiting taxi that stood on the rain-choked curb.
“Please, no,” Bulk whimpered, curling up on the wet steps. “I’ll be strong, I promise.”
Grandma Biceps knelt, hugging the soaking colt tight in her big forelegs as the taxi sped off down the flooded streets. “Shh, it’s ok,” she shushed his tears away. “Grandma is here.” 
Luna watched the old mare’s eyes follow the yellow checkered wagon as it sped down the road and around the corner, lost from sight. “Grandma is here, Bulk. We’ll look after each other. How does that sound?”
Bulk waited, sniffling. “Ok,” he squeaked.
“That’s my big, strong grandson,” she affirmed. “Whenever you’re ready, why don’t you come inside. We get you dry, and I’ll have some cookies ready.”
Luna watched Grandma Biceps stand, trotting back up the steps, pause for a moment long enough to gaze upon the distant street, then disappeared again inside.
For when Luna turned back, the little weeping foal was gone, replaced by the same muscular stallion that he had become.
Bulk sat on the steps in the gentle storm, watching the same road that the taxi had turned down. His eyes were still wet, and his coat was drenched.
“She sits by the phone,” he sighed. “Every night, after her cup of tea, she sits in her chair by the phone. She’s still waiting for that phone call, after all these years. It's just been so long, I forgot – or wanted to forget – the call she was waiting for.”
“Has she ever tried to explain what happened?” Luna asked, sitting beside the stallion that dwarfed her. The rain gently fell around her shoulders. “Why they felt you would be safer here?”
Bulk shook his head solemnly. “I’ve tried to ask once or twice before, many years ago. But I think it’s too much for both of us. Yet, they still haunt me. Not them of course,” he clarified. “But, that day still follows me no matter where I go. The rain,” he muttered, kicking at a puddle at his feet. "The rising waters each night."
“Is that why you began lifting weights?” Luna wondered.
“Be strong,” he repeated. “For the longest time, I thought they meant physically. Silly, I know," he chuckled. "Maybe, for a time, I thought it might somehow make them come back sooner – at all.” He kicked a pebble down the walkway. “I guess I was wrong about that.”
Luna mulled over his words for a moment. “I wouldn’t say that,” she rebutted. “Look back on all you have accomplished," she told him." Look at the championship, at your achievements, your success. Do you think you did it all with shear strength alone?” 
Behind them, humming drifted out from the kitchen and onto the porch, as well as the scent of cookies fresh out the oven.
Luna nodded to the front door. “Because I think somepony gave you a different kind of strength: the strength to push on when things get tough.”
“Bulk,” Grandma Biceps called from inside. “Those cookies are ready. Why don’t you come inside and have one? Then we can have a nice evening work on glutes and abdominal crunches.”
Luna stood up from the porch and waited by the front door, her coat dripping. “What do you say, Bulk? Are you strong enough? Even if you might not find the closure to your answers?”
Bulk gazed upon the door, turning his back on the rainstorm. He slowly reached out and grasped the knob. With a click, it swung open, the entrance a bright portal of light. Luna beckoned him in.
“I think" – he nodded to himself – "I think I’ll be alright. I have a little help,” he told her with a nod. “And a kick-ass grandma, too,” he chuckled, smiling with a toothy grin, and stepped through.