Lightning Dust sighed. Yet another beautiful (presumably) summer day, with the sun and sky just begging for a pegasus of her caliber to come, and here she was, still stuck inside this crummy hospital.
As much as she hated to admit it, Fiddlesticks as a visitor was making things a little more tolerable. At least she knew she wasn’t the only one who hated hospital food.
She could have done without the constant stream of bad music jokes, though. Still, it was a welcome interruption from nurses who had definitely gotten tired of her asking for updates on her condition.
Not that she’d ever tell Fiddlesticks that, though.
The door opened, interrupting her thoughts. Lightning knew the rotation by now, and knew that Fiddlesticks wouldn’t come by again until tomorrow, so that left one option. “Hey, Coldheart. Enjoy your regular bowl of nails for breakfast?”
“It’s Doctor Horse, actually.”
Lightning sat up in shock.
“And, uh, I had biscuits and gravy this morning.”
“Forget the gravy, Doc, what’s up with my eyes?” she said urgently.
“Well, we can’t be sure until we remove the bandages,” he hedged.
Lightning sputtered. Why was he stalling? “What are you waiting for? Let’s go, doc,” Lightning urged. “Get these off.”
“Before we begin, I want to remind you-”
“Yeah, yeah, there’s a chance it didn’t work, come on, my wings are atrophying over here!”
She felt the bandages begin to unwrap, and she felt her heart start pounding. Strip after strip was removed, and then-
“Oh, it’s bright,” she protested, bringing a hoof up to cover them.
“Yes, you haven’t used them in a while, so they’ll be sensitive. Give them a moment to adjust, and we’ll run the tests in a moment.”
Fiddlesticks knocked on the door and let herself in. “Hey, Lightning,” she started.
Lightning lay on the bed, still, facing away from the door.
She chuckled and softly sang, “Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, Lightning-” She stopped as she noticed a change. “Oh, your bandages are off.”
Lightning grunted.
“How did it go?” Fiddlesticks asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
Lightning rolled over and glared at her, revealing one normal eye, and one with a jagged scar across it. The pupil was milky white. It would never see again. “I don’t know. You tell me,” she said bitingly.
Fiddlesticks tried to lighten the mood. “I’m sure it’s not all bad. I’d think you’d like a scar. Gives you more of an extreme look.”
But Lighting Dust was not amused. “You don’t get it!” she raged, bringing her hooves down on the bed. “I’m blind in one eye! I can’t fly with only one! I just can’t! I need my depth perception to do every! Single! One of my stunts!” Her chest was heaving and hot tears burned in her eyes. “I’m done! I’m finished! I’ll never fly again! I’m-!”
But she was stopped there when Fiddlesticks pulled her into a tight hug and held her close.
Lightning protested wordlessly as she tried to hit her with her front hooves, push her away with her head. Her wings flared defensively as she tried to kick her, even though her rear hooves were trapped under the blanket. She didn’t want this!
But her efforts softened, and it quickly became token resistance at best. Even her wings folded back down.
She collapsed into the embrace, sobbing, comforted but hating every second of it.
After what seemed like an hour (but was probably only a couple of minutes), Fiddlesticks spoke again. “I can’t say it’s alright, because my cousin has a stick in her flank about being honest and you’re clearly torn up something awful, but I might have something that can help.” She lifted her hat, revealing a small flask balanced on her head. “This here is Apple Family Cider.”
“What’s so special about that?” Lightning asked, brusquely wiping a hoof across her muzzle.
“It’s delicious. Always helps me feel better. I mean, I was hoping to celebrate with it, but as my cousin’s girlfriend says, it’s never a bad time for cider.” She picked up Lightning’s water cup and poured them both some, making sure to fill Lightning’s all the way to the top.
Lightning took a sip and her eyes widened subconsciously. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was nice and chilled and bubbly and she did actually feel a little bit better.
They stayed like that for a little while, sipping and refilling until the flask was finally empty.
“So, what now?” Fiddlesticks asked, tucking it back under her hat.
“They’re releasing me soon,” Lightning said, looking down into her cup as if there would be answers there. “I’ll figure it out from there.”
“Going back to the Washouts?”
“Eh. Maybe. You know, they’d be lucky to have me. I’m still just as bold and daring and exciting as I was before,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound like she was trying to convince herself of that. “I choreographed all our old stunts. I’m sure I’ll get some new ones in no time. I’ve got some ideas bouncing around already.” It was a bit of a lie, but not really.
Fiddlesticks nodded. She pulled over a pen, wrote something down on a napkin, and slid it over.
“What’s this?” Lightning Dust asked, looking down at it.
“That’s my address. When you do get back into it, send me a ticket. I’ll come cheer you on. I mean, I might not go the whole face painting flag-waving megafan route, but I’ll give you a standing ovation at least.”
Lightning hesitated, then took it. “Sure thing,” she said.
Fiddlesticks inhaled and held it, clearly trying to suppress it.
Lightning sighed, knowing what was coming. “Alright. Out with it,” she said tiredly.
“How do you make a bandstand?”
“I don’t really want to know, but I’ll ask anyway. How, Fiddlesticks?”
“You take away their chairs.”
Lightning shook her head. “Thanks for the cider. Good night, Fiddlesticks.”
Fiddlesticks tipped her hat and left.
Lightning watched her leave, unsure what to think.
You could lie to friends, right? That was a thing, she was pretty certain.
So why did she feel a little uneasy?