Were I a more poetic soul, I'd tell you that I spent the rest of that morning staring at the sunrise, reflecting over my misbegotten life, not to mention the impending end of it. In truth, however, all I did was chug down the rest of my bottle and pass out on top of the train station. I could've legged it, I suppose, but that would've just meant a lingering, thirsty death out in the Appleoosan desert, as opposed to the somewhat quick and certainly agonizing death Boss Hiss had to offer. And with Carrot Top (and the whole train besides) missing, there seemed little point to it.
Which is how I woke up the next morning with a dry mouth, a throbbing head, and the pattern of tarpaper shingles imprinted on my cheek. The harsh morning sone did nothing to help any of this, so I groggily glided down to ground level, taking refuge in the shadow of the train station.
“You noticed the mail train didn't come through, huh?” One of the passing Appleoosans apparently didn't notice my bleary-eyed hangover. “Hope them Rattlers ain't got anythin' to do with it.”
“I envy your optimism.” I grumbled. A quick glance over at the jail confirmed the two burly earth ponies were still standing guard-- considering the lack of screaming or fires, I presumed Kid Cobra was still in his cell. Carrot Top had picked well--
--a fresh, icy dagger lanced its way into my heart.
Breakfast was in order. Liquid breakfast.
A few shots of whiskey pushed back my hangover, and a few more after that pushed back anything else I was in danger of feeling. The bartender kept the rotgut coming, at least. “Nothin' like a hit o' the good stuff to get ya riled up 'fore a fight!”
I would've corrected him, but that might have meant he would have stopped pouring drinks. At least my wastrel career was of some use, as not only was I able to feign sobriety, but competency as well. And you know what the worst part was? There's all kinds of parables that say a pony's last meal or whatever is the most delicious thing they'll ever taste, but that Appleoosan whiskey tasted just as rough as it did the night before. Then again, maybe that was just one of the few times in my wicked life that I've actually gotten what I deserved.
“It's him!” Somepony said from outside. “It's Boss Hiss! He's comin'!”
My chest clenched up, as the gloomy miasma of inevitable dread coalesced into the chill-cold spike of immediate terror. Quite a familiar feeling, I might add. But I'd already used up my chance to escape-- and without an appropriate alibi from Special Agent Golden Harvest, what was the point? In the distance, a train whistle shrieked-- just enough to taunt me with the impossibility of escape.
And so, I stretched my wings out, slipped off of my stool, and went out to die. One of the burly guardsponies from the jail was already at the door to hand me an Appleoosa Pie, somehow managing not to explode the both of us in the process.
“Y'all get 'im!” The pony said with entirely too much enthusiasm. “Y'all get 'im good!”
And with that, I was left to trot out into the middle of the dusty Appleoosa street, just in time to meet Boss Hiss approaching from the other side of town. The snakeman carried himself with a bully's swagger, strutting this way and that. As he walked into town, the ponies of Appleoosa eyed him warily from second-story windows, or from behind makeshift barricades of crates and hay bales.
I, of course, was the only pony who wasn't allowed to take cover.
“Well, lookee here!” Boss Hiss stopped his mosey about half a block's distance from me and hooked his clawed thumbs into his belt. “Big-britches city slicker stuck around! I was hopin' you would. Ain't right that my li'l brother got to kill more lawponies than I did. Unless you wanna let 'im out, n' we can be on our way?”
Oh, I wished I could. But there was no way to do it. Not anymore, at least, as I realized I'd wasted the dark hours of the morning, well, getting wasted, and not springing Kid Cobra free. That's hindsight for you.
“You know I can't do that.” I puffed myself up as best I could. The copious amount of whiskey I'd pounded down hadn't given me courage so much as apathy. No damns left to give, as it were. “Though I suppose I should offer you the same courtesy-- you can just surrender now, and save yourself a damned lot of trouble.”
“Hah! That's a good'un. Tell me another.”
“It's true. In fact, look at what's happening right now. Your brother killed Sheriff Silverstar-- so now you've got to deal with an actual Hero of Equestria. I've got the medal for it and everything.” In truth, I was surely a downgrade from the late-but-brave Silverstar. But he wasn't the one with a cabinet full of medals and a puffed up reputation to match-- just goes to show you how unjust the world is, right there. “And you know what? If you kill me, then that's just going to cause you more trouble. Why, my untimely demise might even get the attention of one of the Princesses. And if it does, it's only a matter of time before you repent your wicked ways and/or get magically blasted into orbit.”
“That so?” Boss Hiss raised a hand to his face and wiped his nose off with his thumb. “Know what I think?”
“What's that?”
“If I kill you, you'll be dead.”
Boss Hiss struck.
As before, I didn't see him move-- though a part of my brain registered he had to. One moment he was standign there, glaring at me-- and the next, he had his clawed hand out in front of him, and I just barely glimpsed a blur of movement: the sidewinder, streaking through the air, fangs out.
Even though I knew it was too late, I threw my pie. Just a matter of principle, at that point. However, a cast-iron pie tin filled with explosives isn't exactly aerodynamic in the best of conditions-- the fact that I had a notable fraction of Appleoosa's whiskey supply coursing through my guts likely didn't help, either. I might have been able to fake a brave speech without slurring too badly, but hitting anything with a thrown pie was right out.
The Appleoosa Pie tumbled end over end through the air, landing well short of Boss Hiss. It hit the ground at roughly the midpoint between us, and went off with an eardrum-torturing boom. The shockwave from the blast was enough to send me reeling. I tumbled hooves-over-head and splayed my wings out for balance, when a sudden, crippling pain flared through my flank. For a moment, I thought a shard of errant shrapnel had hit me, but of course I wasn't that lucky.
I straightened myself out in midair, then chanced a look at my wound. And, sure enough, there was Boss Hiss' sidewinder clamped onto my rump, fangs pumping deadly venom into me.
And then, pain.
All of it.
Much as they say Princess Twilight Sparkle's entourage embody various virtues like Loyalty or Honesty or Sending Out Thank-You-Cards or what have you, I found myself turned into the philosophical embodiment of Whimpering In Pain. Only I could barely even do that; every single one of my muscles went taut, locking me jaws shut. I fell to the ground in a shuddering, convulsing heap as my nervous system attempted to slither out of my nostrils.
And even as sidewinder venom seared through my veins, I still had the wherewithal to register a boot nudging me in the shoulder, and a shadow passing over my field of vision. I cracked one eye open and looked up at Boss Hiss. He looked down at me in turn, utterly unphased by my feeble pie throw.
“Well, lookit this. I ain't never seen a pony that could take more n' one sidewinder.” He shrugged, then reached into the snake-pouch at his belt once more. “Easy way to fix that.”
“And I've never seen a snake that could take more than one shovel.”
The blade of the shovel rang like a bell as it struck the back of Boss Hiss' skull.
He toppled like a felled tree, hitting the ground hard enough to kick up a cloud of dust when he did. Even as I laid there, paralyzed by roiling, incessant agony, I took no small degree of satisfaction in seeing Boss Hiss in pain. Said satisfaction was short lived, fading away as a blur in a familiar shade of orange leaned into my already-blurring line of sight. Under normal circumstances, I would've been thrilled to see Carrot Top swinging in to dispense justice (and roundhouse kicks) at the last moment, as she'd made something of a habit of doing.
But as I laid there, my body doing its best to turn itself inside out, a pang of guilt (one of the few I've ever had, I should note) lanced through me. After all, perhaps the only thing I was good at, the only thing I was good for, was keeping myself alive through the most ridiculously dangerous of situations-- and here I'd even failed at that.
“I'm sorry.” I rasped out with a ragged, shuddering breath.
Carrot Top's lips moved, but I couldn't hear her reply.
Probably better that way.
Strangely enough, I woke up.
The agonizing pain torturing me before had faded to more of a generalized ache-- hardly pleasant, but at least I could, you know, move. I braved opening my eyes, and stared up at a white plaster ceiling. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if this was the afterlife's waiting room-- but the antiseptic smell (not to mention a distinct lack of demons punishing me for my many, many misdeeds) soon dispelled such a notion. The mattress beneath me creaked as I sat up-- at which point something hit me in the chest. Hard.
“Flash!” And, sure enough, there was Carrot Top. She looked terrible-- and not in the “terrible vengeance wrought upon the villainous” way she usually did. One of her legs was in a sling, her eyes were bloodshot from fatigue, and her frizzy mane was even wilder and more unkempt than usual.
I don't think I've ever been happier to see her.
“So ... I'm alive, then?” I said, just in case. I wouldn't have put it past Carrot Top to infiltrate the gates of Paradise if she had enough incentive.
“Barely. You've been out for nearly a week.”
“Are we still in Appleoosa?”
Carrot Top shook her head. “No, we're in Canterlot General Hospital.”
“I thought I recognized that ceiling.”
“The doctors were afraid you might not make it.”
“Ah.” I patted Carrot Top on her un-slung shoulder. “You ... didn't suck the sidewinder poison out, did you?”
“What? No.” The mare sniffed and wiped at her eye-- by the time the tears were gone, she was back to her familiar look of affectionate bafflement. “As best as anyone can figure, there was so much alcohol in your system that it acted as a kind of blood thinner, which diluted the effect of the venom. Certainly an ... unorthodox means to deal with the problem. One of the doctors says he's going to write a case study about it.*”
*See: Lovely Lancet's “On the Efficacy of Improvised Antivenoms.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I did it on purpose?” I said.
Carrot Top laid her head on my chest. “Probably not.”
“When the train didn't come, when you didn't come.I ... I thought the worst.”
“I know.” Carrot Top sighed, and pulled me closer with her good front leg. “The Rattler Gang were going to hijack the train, massacre the ponies onboard. I didn't have time to stop them and get Boss Hiss, so ... I made a decision.” She sniffled again, then pushed away from me. “I'm sorry, Flash. I--”
I started laughing.
It hurt.
It was worth it.
“What?” Carrot Top glared at me. I found it slightly reassuring.
“Oh, come off it.” I said. “You're going to go in some big teary speech about 'duty over love' or some other such nonsense, like you haven't nearly gotten me killed a half dozen times before this. I'm not exactly happy about it, mind you, but I'm not surprised. It's not like you specifically had the two of us go to Appleoosa for the sole purpose of dealing with those reptilian maniacs, right?” I paused, mulling the thought over. “Right?”
“If it were a real op, I would've planned it better.”
“Ah.” I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. “That's better. I think. But what happened to the Rattler Gang? Wait, no-- let me guess. You gave 'em all the same treatment as Boss Hiss, didn't you?”
Carrot Top nodded.
“And ... that didn't blow your cover at all?”
“Ponies in Appleoosa have seen me fight before. And it's not unheard of for ponies to perform great feats of strength for--” and damn if Carrot Top didn't blush like a schoolgirl. “--for ponies they love.”
“Ah. Well. I suppose that's justification enough, there. Although, I can think of a more pleasant things ponies in love can do.” I brushed a frizz of orange hair away from Carrot Top's neck.
“Seriously?” Carrot Top murmured, even as she nuzzled in against my neck. “Here? Now?”
“It's for my health. Got to make sure everything's in working order.”
“Sentry, you-- oh.”