//------------------------------// // Chapter 11: “So, a Dragon, a Weathermare, and a Veterinarian Walk into a Granola Bar…” // Story: Zenith // by The Descendant //------------------------------// Chapter 11: “So, a Dragon, a Weathermare, and a Veterinarian Walk into a Granola Bar…” “Oh, hey, Twi!” Spike sang, interrupting his own train of thought. “I just remembered… I bought ya an oven mitt!” Spike was a good little dragon by most accounts, but even he had heard the siren song of consumerism. How could he avoid it? In the week since he had “opened” the special collections room, he had walked through the market at least four times a day. The glorious oven mitts had beckoned to him from their market stall. Before he’d even known what he had done, the dragon had bought her one. It was a wonderful oven mitt by all accounts, functional in purpose yet elaborately decorated. Spike leaned across the bed. He gently lifted her hooves and wrapped them around the mitt so that she held it close to her chest, not unlike how she had held Smarty Pants when she had been a filly. The alicorn said nothing. Twilight Sparkle did not move, did not toss her head, did not grin or smile. She simply lay there, as she had for three weeks, five hours, and fourteen minutes. “Oh!” Spike said. “Hey, Twi, check these out!” He dove through his haversack once again, mumbling to himself as he pushed aside the torn scroll and the unfathomable box of Mairsy Dotes. He came out with papers filling his hands, and as they fell across the bed he selected a few to present to the princess. “Guess what we discovered, Twi!” he said, rummaging through the pile. He paused to rub his eyes and then waited for the starbursts to disappear. Each day he grew thinner, darker. The visible signs of exhaustion clung to him. The doughnuts, hospital tapioca, and few hours of sleep he got each night seemed to be failing to keep his fatigue in check. He lifted one of the pictures, a copy of one of the illustrations. What it presented was eerily familiar… horribly familiar… “Look, Twi,” he said. “It’s another pillar! The thing is though, well, uhhh… it has another name.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. The music that drifted down the corridor lingered across the West Wind Annex, enveloping the occupants of the quiet ward. Spike jumped a little, thinking that he’d heard hooves making their way down the hallway. He bit his tongue, quite literally, and looked over his shoulder. He waited like that until he had convinced himself that it had only been his imagination… his tired, warped, fraying imagination. He looked back to Twilight, feeling safe that he’d not been discovered talking to her. That fear still loomed large, that if he were discovered talking to her, that he’d be taken away… that he’d be separated from Twilight. Spike looked down to the images that sat on the copies. “It’s–it’s called ‘The Pillar of the Clouds’, Twi,” he said, lifting the paper up to the motionless alicorn. He held the image there, as though some part of himself were fighting to disregard the fact that she could neither see his proof nor hear his words. He held it there for another second before the part of him that knew better took over. He ran his hand over the image, and as he did he gave a heavy sigh. “We don’t know why there are other pillars or anything, but, hey, we’re still looking, ya know?” he said in an apologetic tone. “There’s even one that I read about, no picture though, that has a moon on it, Twi. Isn’t that weird? Isn’t it weird that there would be one that has a moon, like Princess Luna, and one that has a sun that looks like…” A sudden thud went through him, and Spike shuddered in place. His eyes went wide as he remembered Celestia’s mark hanging there, above that pool. His mind shot back to the drowning pool, back to him screaming for help as some dark, deep magic drew them nearer and nearer. His thoughts raced back to the black place where Celestia’s mark sat etched into the surface of that thing… that thing that had hurt Twilight, that had made her scream in pain. His teeth ground together, and his fist balled. His hate sat very near the surface, and the image of a green eye, the only thing he hated in this world, floated around him. He closed his eyes, letting the image dissolve. Spike took a moment to breathe deeply, releasing his anger. He found himself wavering on his feet, his tired body begging him to try and sleep once more. Spike’s eyes came open, and he looked back up to Twilight. His mind swam through the pools of exhaustion that hung in his perception. A small plan had hatched there as he had studied the tomes that were brought out of the enchanted special collections room, the one he had “opened” with “permission”. He had seen something that a boy his age would find hilarious. If Twilight wasn’t awakening to his pleas, perhaps her need to, well, discipline him would bring her around. Maybe, just maybe, a need to chide her little ward for inappropriate behavior would be what woke her. Spike took the risk. He risked being admonished if it meant having her awake to do so. With a small, self-conscious motion, he pulled some papers he had hidden from Reference Desk and Call out of the haversack. “Heh, hey, heh, Twi,” he said, hiding a blush and a nervous giggle as he lifted the images up to her. “Check out these fertility totems from all over Equus! I’m glad ya didn’t find one of these down there! That would have been embarrassing, huh?” Spike lifted the images to where, if her eyes had been open, the alicorn princess could have seen the decidedly phallic talismans. “I mean, heh, I’d hate to think that you and I would have come across one of these! Right? That would have been embarrassing, right, Twi?” He awaited her response. “At least they got the dragon one, I mean, ones, right! Huh, pretty weird stuff, right, Twi? I mean… Twi? Twi?” Spike let the pictures fall out of his hands. What was he doing? He wiped his hands across his face until they settled across his mouth, cupping each breath as he looked to where Twilight lay. What was he doing? He was grasping at straws. Had he really just tried to embarrass her into waking up? He had. He had, and it hadn’t worked. “Oh, Twi,” he sighed. The dragon opened the haversack once more, preparing to hide the evidence of his foolish, and slightly inappropriate, attempt at waking her. Instead, he found more things in there that he should not have. Aside from the torn letter and the baffling box of Mairsy Dotes, the writ he had snatched off the door lay there as well… and a book. “Oh, jeez,” he said, running his fingers across the binding. “REF” read the label on the spine. The part of him that had been raised by an adorkable librarian realized that he’d taken a reference book out of the library. “Oh, jeez,” he repeated. “Reference Desk is gonna freak out.” Spike let the haversack slip from his grip, and it hit the floor of the hospital room with a thud. He did a perfunctory job of pushing the images of the totems into a pile, and then simply laid his head across her chest. “So, yeah,” he said, letting his eyes fight through his exhausted haze to focus on her, “Call and I found out that there’s other pillars, and that they’re each called ‘The Pillar of This and That and Stuff’, but they are all ‘The Pillars of the Sun’, which is weird. But, but I don’t know anything else yet, Twi. I don’t have anything to tell the doctors.” His eyes closed, and he felt himself begin to spin ever so slightly, his head being drawn down a drain. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I don’t have anything more… I’m sorry…” He forced his eyes open once more. He settled them across her forelegs, across the oven mitt he had bought her. “Do… do ya wanna make some cookies, Twi?” he whispered. “We can go down to the kitchen. I’m sure it’s okay. They’d let us use the ovens. I’m, like, pretty sure they would.” He rested his hand on her foreleg. “I’m sure they would. Do you wanna make some cookies? I know I can get the stuff we need to make those ones you like, the ones with the nuts.” The music from the nurse’s radio drifted down the hallway, and the moonlight filtered in through the windows. “Good night, Twi,” he whimpered as he slowly drew himself off the bed, landing on the little pile of pillows that he treated as his nest. “I miss you.” Spike awoke to some unusual sounds. First off, there was giggling. It wasn’t demure or hidden. It wasn’t slight or modest. As he came awake, his body fighting his commands and trying to remain asleep, the giggling turned to chuckles to a hoarse, familiar laughter. The other thing he heard was somepony saying “Oh my!” The tone was light and filled with a sort of self-conscious restraint. “Oh my!” the voice repeated, and then a slight chuckle lifted through the air on a tiny tone. They were tones that he recognized. They were tones that he’d come to hold dear. “Hey, check out the dragon one… ones!” “Oh my! Oh my, oh… oh my!” “Hey, Dash,” Spike said, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Fluttershy.” The two pegasi looked at him, bright blushes going over their faces. They quickly pushed the pictures back under the haversack and leapt to the little dragon. Spike laughed a little, and some instinct made him lift his arms up to Fluttershy as she pulled him into a massive hug. Soon the soft, welcoming feel of her coat enveloped him. Spike could have drifted back to sleep there, the pink mane of the mare drifting over him, her sweet scent filling his nostrils. It felt wonderful to be held this way, this tender way that Fluttershy seemed to do so naturally. But, it didn’t feel like Twilight… …it just didn’t feel like Twilight. If there were any one of Twilight’s friends, their friends, who saw the changes that were coming over him, it would be her. It would be this soft-eyed pegasus, the one who had spent her life caring for others, showing concern. He lowered his head, trying to hide the obvious signs of his frailty. “Hey, guys,” he said, closing one eye as Dash gave him a noogie. “Heh, good to see ya!” He jumped a little at the sound of his own voice. It was withdrawn, distant… weak. “So, ummm,” he began, forcing strength into his words, “what brings you two up here so early in the morning? Were ya doing something in Canterlot? Did you have, well, any trouble getting in this early?” The two pegasi looked at one another, and then back to the little dragon that Fluttershy still held in her forelegs. She lowered him to the ground as Dash looked across Twilight. “Spike, it’s not that early,” Dash said. “The ward’s been open to visitors for, like, an hour already. We just didn’t want to wake you, so we sat with Twilight and then your man-purse...” “Haversack.” “Yeah, whatever. Well, that fell over and we… well, nice photos. Anywho, we were thinking…” Spike’s scream filled the room as a line of Dash’s dialog belatedly fell through him. “What?! An hour?! Gah!” he cried, racing beneath Fluttershy, making her give an “Eep!” and stare down under her own body at the distraught whelp. Spike leapt up the counter, fetching a glass from high overhead and a pitcher from below and pulling open the cold-water tap with his foot. “I overslept, I overslept, I overslept!” he called, bouncing in place as he filled both containers, repeating his refrain as he rushed to the other side of the room. He quickly adjusted the glass and pitcher, letting the sun of a late morning slide through the glass once more. “I’ve got so much to do!” he called, leaping up to Twilight’s side. He brushed his hand through her mane, putting the wafts of her purple and pink back where they had sat before the air conditioner had blown them loose, looking for any evidence that she had moved, that she was awaking. His mouth came open, but at the last second he checked himself, not revealing his secret. I’ll be back, Twi, he thought. Have fun with Dash and Fluttershy. I’ll be back, and I’m sure that we’ll find it all out today. Bye, Twi… I’ll be back, I promise… Spike spun down from the bed, running beneath Fluttershy again, making another small “Eep!” rise from the mare. “Bye!” he called, waving his hand at them as he scampered towards the door, bringing the haversack across his shoulder. “Good to see you! Say ‘Hi!’ to everyone in Pon–” Spike stopped short as a blur of cyan erupted around him, and he looked down to discover a hoof pressed against his stomach. “Hold it! Spike looked up to find himself staring into Dash’s eyes. His hands wrapped around and around the strap of the haversack, and inside his tired, wobbling mind Spike suddenly realized that the mares were not just here to see Twilight. “Spike, well, we… umm, we’re kind of here on a mission, you see,” Fluttershy said, brushing her muzzle against his shoulder. Spike gripped the strap of the haversack harder. “Well, we’re here to… to spend the day with you! Isn’t that nice, don’t you think?” she asked, touching her muzzle to his shoulder again. “Well, yes. No! I mean, well, I have work to do, with this historian guy. We’re… we’re finding stuff out,” he said, turning towards Fluttershy. “We’re finding out ways to… to help Twilight.” “Oh! Oh, ummm, well, we thought that maybe you’d like to go to the zoo, or to a show, maybe,” Fluttershy said, pushing through some hesitation. “C’mon, Spike, you look even worse than the last time we were here. You look like Zombie Death warmed over on Nightmare Night after losing a fight with a minotaur,” Dash said, hovering over him. “You need to get out of here. Twilight is gonna be alright by herself­–” How can you promise that? “–and whatever you’ve got going on can wait. You need some sun, Spike. Really… like, really.” No! No it can’t wait! It’s been three weeks! I’m... I’m figuring this out! The soft sensation of a gentle touch went through him again, and he could feel the tender eyes of Fluttershy falling across him from behind. “Well, ummm, Spike,” she cooed, her voice barely lifting above the sounds of the hospital room around them, “you really, really should take some time to, well, get better.” Something inside Spike began to move, and he found himself increasingly aware of what was happening. It was a “good cop, bad cop” routine. They were trying to both plead with him and force him into spending the day with them, trying to get him to forget about his research, about working to help Twilight. They were trying to get him to worry about himself. His fists balled. He didn’t want to worry about himself. “I was gonna go back to Joe’s,” he breathed. “Get some breakfast… or, brunch, I guess.” “Oh no! No, no, no, Spike!” Fluttershy cried, her voice going loud as her wings unfolded in worry. “You need something more nutritious than doughnuts in your tummy! No wonder you look so… well, bad.” Spike felt his teeth grinding together, and he felt something unhappy rising inside his small frame. It was the same part that had arisen last week, the last time Twilight’s friends, his friends, had visited. He was getting angry. “We are going to go and get a nice big breakfast and maybe… well, maybe you’ll come? Oh, and then we can have fun in the gardens, or see a show, okay?. Doesn’t that sound nice, Spike?” she said, her voice becoming the soft, concerned tone that defined her. No, he said, grappling with his anger. No, you are not gonna yell at Fluttershy! You are not, you are not, you are not! Fluttershy’s hoof came up, and she tenderly stroked Spike’s back. “Oh! W-we can get ice cream, and then we’ll all just have a lovely afternoon in the park!” she said, draping her kindness around him, showing him that part of herself that had always been her trademark. It burned at him, grated on his nerves. She… she was trying to drag him away, trying to add another day to the long, unending litany of weeks that Twilight had lay in that bed. Can’t they see? Don’t they understand? Her soft muzzle touched his shoulder again, and instead of the cool, gentle affection it had always been, it shot through him like a bee sting, like a slap across sunburnt flesh. His teeth ground, his body shook. No! his thoughts screamed. No! Don’t you dare yell at her! Don’t you dare make her cry! Not Fluttershy! You will not yell at Fluttershy! She is only worried about you! That will make you a monster! You will not yell at… Well, you know, you could fib a little, if that would help, said another part of him, one that leapt at him from nowhere. Spike’s tired, bloodshot eyes opened, and soon a small smirk went across his features. He turned to look at Fluttershy. “Well, yeah, sure,” he said, forcing his smile to appear where the smirk had been. “That sounds great!” “R-really? Oh, oh, that’s just wonderful!” she said, running her face across his before taking to her wings in excitement. “Now, let’s just say goodbye to Twilight and we’ll have a great, great day!” Yeah, like I wouldn’t have done that anyway. Hey, talk to me like I’m four years old again and see what happens, he thought. Talk to me like I’m a little kid again, or one of those animals that make your cottage smell like a zoo on a hot day… Spike shuddered, fighting to put away that angry part of himself, that part that was sitting very near the surface. He looked up to Fluttershy. A happy smile hung over her face, one that showed that she thought she was doing the right thing, that she was simply doing what the kindness that dwelt inside her was telling her she needed to do. You will not yell at Fluttershy, he thought. Twilight can’t wake up to a monster. He walked back towards Twilight’s bed. He adjusted her glass, making sure the rainbow shone brightly. He moved her boots and her crown slightly, once more making sure that they were perfectly aligned, and then he looked up to where his best friend lay once more. It’s okay, Twilight, he thought. I won’t be distracted for long. A small smirk crept across his face once again, and giving her leg a single stroke, he turned towards the door. He felt eyes passing over him, and he looked up to find Rainbow Dash staring at him. His smirk faded away as the mare studied him, her face a portrait of doubt, not taking her eyes off of him even as Fluttershy sang on about the wonderful fun that they were going to have. Spike felt himself go weak, and as the mares put on their saddlebags, he gripped harder upon his haversack. Together they left the room, the dragon casting one last glance towards the alicorn that lay on the bed, the oven mitt in her hooves, as Comfort and Pacemaker arrived. A lump suddenly developed in his throat, and it sat there resolutely as he listened to Fluttershy’s happy sounds. He heard Dash give a sigh as they made for the streets of Canterlot beyond, the sound falling around the corridors. Fluttershy had chosen a granola bar, of all places, for the trio to have their brunch. She went from one tall, clear cylinder to the next, filling his bowl with all sorts of nuts and fruits that she hoped would restore his body and lift his spirit. As the cold milk splashed down across the cheap china, Spike’s mind began tossing unhappy thoughts at him once more. What makes her think she knows what’s best for me, huh? It’s like I’m one of her animals, and it’s feeding time. It’s a dog bowl. I’m a dog again, eating out of a dang doggie bowl… Awww, shut up and eat your granola, he answered himself, sitting next to Dash. Suspiciously thin ponies with opinions about all sorts of issues went up and down the bar behind them, filling their bowls and making social commentary about all sorts of things that Spike had no real interest in. “Now, isn’t that better?” Fluttershy said, her voice chiming out. “I bet that feels nice after all of those doughnuts.” “Yeah,” Spike lied. In his own mind, he felt a twang of regret, of disloyalty, that he hadn’t gone to Joe’s that morning. “Yeah, bet it does,” Dash said, sounding more than a little unconvinced. Spike looked at Dash’s bowl. It contained about a spoonful of granola and was otherwise occupied by chocolate chips. “Heh,” he said, looking to her. Her face betrayed one fleeting smile… and then settled back into a sort of distant suspicion. Spike looked back to his own bowl and went silent. He swam his spoon through the sea of fruits, nuts, and granola… half of which he hated. Twilight would have known better. He missed Twilight so much. The pegasi and the dragon sat there eating, or trying to eat, their granola as the sound of spoons chimed out around them, becoming a chorus that floated through his mind. Spike counted down the long minutes, giving small answers to their blatantly mundane questions. The contents of the bowl became gravel, and he shoveled it into his mouth dutifully, forcing himself not to gag as the squishier ingredients slithered down his throat. “… and, oh, and you wouldn’t believe how wonderful Ponyville looks!” Fluttershy continued, her voice rising over the chime of myriad spoons clinking in bowls and teacups touching to saucers. “Doesn’t it just look so, well… nice this spring, Dash? It’s nice! You should come see it, Spike!” “Yeah,” Dash agreed half-heartedly, standing to go and add more chocolate chips to her granola. “It’s something.” Done! Spike’s thoughts proclaimed. Fluttershy’s amazingly transparent attempt to convince him to come back to Ponyville, to trick him into coming back, had been the last straw. It was time to lie. “Hey, Shy?” Spike said, turning his eyes up to her, smiling happily. “Are you almost ready for our super-fun amazing day, too?” “Oh! Oh, well, I’m almost done,” she answered, smiling back at him. “Have you had enough granola, Spike?” “Yes,” he answered in complete honesty. He’d had enough granola, thank you very much. “I’m just gonna slip off to the little dragon whelp’s room, and then we’ll be ready for all the great stuff I’m sure you have planned!” “Alright then!” she answered happily. He backed away, holding his smile, sliding around some overeducated-looking ponies. The second he was out of her view, his smile dropped away with a resounding thud, and he pushed open the door to the stallion’s room. Fluttershy watched him go, smiling brightly. “He really is a wonderful little dragon,” she said to nopony. “No wonder Twilight depends on him so much. So loyal, so cute, so dedicated… …so honest.” She hadn’t realized that he’d taken his haversack with him. In the stallion’s room, Spike looked around, making sure he was alone. He peeked down under the stalls and across the urinals, making sure that he was the sole occupant. Heh, he snickered. You’re in Canterlot… in a granola bar! Every pony here is so stuck up that they don’t even sh…” “What does that even mean?!” Spike cried. The thoughts that went through his head were becoming angrier, more snarky and mean. They terrified him. Where were these things coming from? He shook his head. He had grown up in Canterlot. He knew this city. Wonderful ponies lived here, and still do. Twilight’s parents, Mrs. Mom and Mr. Dad, lived here. The Lord Protector of the Nursery. Comfort. “Why did you think that?!” he said, slapping his own head over and over. “Why are you so angry?!” He shook his head and then ran to the sinks. Opening the tap he splashed the tepid water across his face, letting it splash to the tiles below. He stepped backwards, rubbing the water out of his eyes. He blinked them open, and at once jumped in alarm. “Wah! Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I was the only… pony, creature… in…” Spike stopped his apology, slowing his words until his mind fully understood what he was seeing. It was a full-length mirror, one standing politely off to the side of the room. The creature that stood in it staring back at him was thin, gaunt, and dark. It had pitted marks across its scales, and red smudges left behind by a harness made out of red tape still sat upon it a week later. The eyes seemed hollow, and they sat deep within wells of black that hovered above each of his cheeks, highlighting their angular appearance. Each eye was bloodshot, and when Spike sighed the creature in the mirror seemed to deflate a little, clutching at its haversack. “Great,” he said, turning away from his own reflection, disgusted with what he found there. “Great.” Spike wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands, rubbing them until there was a starburst. To his surprise, the sound of the chiming spoons and cups still sat in his head, adding their music to the long, distant whir that his exhaustion had settled through him. “Great,” he repeated. Spike looked up to the bathroom window. Fortunately, it seemed to be big enough. He looked to the left and the right, checking to make sure he was alone one last time, and then pulled a basket of warm towels towards the window, little grunts showing his effort as he did. He carefully climbed up the basket, knocking the pile of towels to the ground as he went. He had to leap a few times, but eventually he found the latch on the window. With one last jump, he knocked it open, and the sounds of the streets of Canterlot began to filter in. Spike looked back over his shoulder towards the door. He imagined Dash and Fluttershy sitting there, empty bowls of granola in front of them, waiting for him to return. He imagined Dash making some joke about how he “must have fallen in” and could almost hear Fluttershy’s giggles and shushing. “I’m sorry, guys,” he lied, and then jumped out the window. He landed in a pile of garbage cans. Unsurprisingly, seeing as it was a granola bar, they were mostly empty except for a few unsolicited opinions. “Ow,” he said, lifting himself out of the pile, listening as the cans rolled around noisily. “Took ya long enough,” said a familiar, hoarse voice. “Nice dismount, but your landing sucks.” Rainbow Dash stood over him, looking down at the dragon without a smirk or any sign of self-congratulations. Instead, all that sat on her face was the same distant skepticism that he’d seen earlier. She’d known. She’d known he was up to something. He stood before her, painting a defiant look across his face, not knowing what else to do. “Really?” she said, looking back to him. “This was your plan? You were gonna ditch us? You really just did that… you climbed out the window like you were on a date that had gone bad? C’mon, Spike… really?” Spike stared back at her, letting his anger grow in him, letting a harsh glare go across his face. “So,” Dash said, trotting around him, looking down into his incensed eyes, “what were you gonna do next? Just run back to the hospital? To the library? Was that the plan?” Spike glowered at the mare, meeting her expression. His anger bit at him, demanding action, demanding that he put the mare in her place. “And you didn’t think that we’d come looking for you? Did you think we wouldn’t be worried or something? I mean, yeah, it woulda been embarrassing to have to shove Shy into the colt’s room, but then what? Did you think about that? How many places would you go, Spike?” Dash put her hoof on his chest, staring directly down into his bloodshot, wrath-filled eyes. “How were you gonna tell us that you ditched us so that you could go back to hurting yourself? What were you gonna say, Spike?” Spike felt his wrath building, felt it coiling around inside of him as the pegasus tapped her hoof across his chest accusingly. He kept his head up, meeting her glare. “What were ya gonna tell Shy, Spike?” Dash said, fixing her own glare, deepening it to match his. “Eventually, when we found you again, when she’d gone crying through the streets, looking for you like you knew she would, what were you gonna tell her? Huh? Answer me!” Anger, fury, and wrath gathered in the dragon. He felt his canines dance across one another. He felt his muscles twitch, and he felt as though he could explode. He kept his eyes locked on Dash’s, defiantly staring up to the pegasus whose hoof still sat against his chest. “Answer me!” she cried again, her voice echoing across the garbage cans with a metallic ring. He pounced on her… … falling into her chest, bawling with tears. “Oh, jeez,” Dash said, falling backwards as she spun around. She quickly discarded her saddlebags so that she could better support the dragon that was leaning into her. “Oh, jeez.” Spike wiped his face across Dash’s chest, his tears rolling down her cyan coat in great spheres. His heavy breaths fell across her, pushing heat into her until the scent of her sweat lifted into his nostrils. “Hey,” Dash said, running her hoof across his frills. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The two sat there, the pegasus and the dragon, amid the garbage bags and old cardboard boxes, and in time the dragon’s tears slowed. His arms remained around her, pulling at her as though he believed that he could absorb some of the marvelous strength and resolve she always wore so easily. Some part of him tried to decide if it were more like a child gaining nourishment from its mother or a parasite drawing life out of its host. At that moment, Spike would not have been strong enough to deny either. Dash gave a little sigh of discomfort, and then lowered her forelegs over him. He could sense her awkwardness. Fluttershy would have been better at this, he knew, but Dash had seen how his mind was moving, and now the pegasus did her best to be something she had never really been that good at being… namely, comforting. “You really are a mess, Spike. You know that, right?” she said, quickly checking the alley for other occupants before returning to the deflated figure of the whelp. “You look like you’ve been through the Well. No, really… you look bad. Like, scary bad, Spike.” She sighed again, and then forced her hoof under his chin. Lifting his head up, she searched through his eyes. “So, after all the lessons you’ve seen Twilight learn, after all the times you’ve proven to her that we don’t have to go through hard things alone, you’re still trying to do this all by yourself?” she said, trying to force a softer tone into her trademark gruffness. “Ugh, Spike, you’ve got everypony who cares about you, who loves you, tearing their manes out! Why, Spike? Why do you feel that you have to take care of this all by yourself?” Spike’s eyes shifted back and forth. Dash moved his chin with her hoof, forcing him to look back at her. “Spike, jeez. You’re just­–” Please don’t say it, he thought. Please don’t say it. Please don’t… “–a little kid­.” Shoot. “Really!” she said, letting him sink his head back into her body. “Spike, c’mon, you know it isn’t right. It isn’t what… this isn’t something that anypony wants you to do. There’re a lot of smart ponies doing their best…” “No they’re not,” he whimpered. “Nopony is helping her.” “C’mon, you know that’s not true,” she said. “It is!” he brayed. “They’re sticking needles in her, and they’re doing tests, and they’re casting spells, but nopony except for the princess has even asked me what I saw! Nopony has even asked me if I’ve found anything new!” “Hey,” Dash breathed. “It’s true! The princess isn’t helping me! The doctors hate me! The nurses put up with me, but only Comfort likes me… and, and every time you guys come or Shining and Cadance come you all try to get me to come away!” he cried, more tears rolling down his face, catching amid her coat. “You’re all trying to take me away from her! You’re all trying to take me away from Twilight!” “That’s not… jeez, Spike,” Dash began. She silenced herself. Good intentions aside, had they come today to do anything different? Silence hovered around the alley, and the sticky-sweet smell of the garbage lingered around them. It only added to the weight of sensations that were floating through Spike. His exhaustion, his mountain of emotions, the constant hum and chime that was ringing through his ears… these all sat on him, showed themselves in his small, wavering form. Dash ran her hoof across him again, letting herself think. His heavy breaths caught across her barrel and stomach, and she began to remember little things that she’d seen pass between Spike and Twilight. They were happy little scenes, and some not so happy. Yet, as each went in front of her, she was able to place them all into a single coherent thought. “She means a whole bunch to you, huh?” Dash said, gently tossing his frills about. “She’s all I’ve got, Dash,” he breathed. Dash let the dragon’s words settle around her. There was something familiar in his words, something that spoke to some part of her. It spoke to her mark, her element, and as it did, larger truths settled into the mare. “Hey, Spike?” she asked. “Do you remember the week I spent with you guys?” “Ya mean after you lost the bet on the Sisterhooves Social?” he replied, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “The week you spent as my, well, slave?” “Ugh!” she said, rolling her eyes around. “Yeah, that week.” “Aww,” he said, just a hint of a chuckle appearing in his voice, “it wasn’t that bad! We had fun!” “Yeah, we did,” she said, bopping him on the nose. “Is Twilight still the Grand High Tickle Wars Champion of the Library?” “Yeah,” he laughed. “And you, sister, are still in third!” “It wasn’t any fair!” Dash groaned, her competitive nature bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got fingers! Anywho, I’ve got a rematch coming, right?” “Heh, it’s a deal,” he said. “Spike, do you know what I realized during that week?” she asked, painting a tone of responsibility back into her voice. “No, what did ya realize, Dash?” The pegasus tossed her head, throwing a lock of hair out of her eyes. She laughed a sheltered laugh, and then said, “I figured out that you’re me, kiddo.” Spike blinked, and after a moment a grin curled across his face. “Heh!” he laughed. “Twi said that I was the new you, back when Discord had you all messed up. Did you hear about that? Do you think that she was right?” “Yeah,” Dash answered, “you’re pretty loyal, Spike. Really loyal, actually. And the thing is… well, I get it. I get it. I know what that feels like.” She began to smile at him, but that soon faded. Immediately, their roles reversed. Now it was the little dragon who stared up to the young mare with concern in his eyes. Now it was Dash whose face betrayed deep worries and doubts. “Hey, Dash? What’s… what’s wrong?” he asked. The pegasus tilted her head, and then stared down at him once more. A hearty sigh escaped her lips. “You know it’s gonna hurt, right?” she asked. “W-what is?” he asked, jumping slightly. “Wherever this whole thing you’re doing, the whole ‘I gotta be the one who helps Twilight wake up,’ wherever that takes you… it’s gonna hurt,” she said, rustling her feathery wings. “I’m gonna tell you, Spike, being loyal doesn’t mean that you get away with stuff. In fact, it means that some things come back and bite you even harder. I stood up for Shy so many times when we were fillies, and contrary to what everypony believes, I didn’t always win…” The sounds of Canterlot’s streets came drifting down the alley, settling around the pair. The garbage bags moved oddly beneath them, making crunching noises and lifting unwholesome smells into the air. “You’re gonna get hurt…” “I know.” The little dragon wiped his head across the cyan coat of the mare, once more trying to pull some of the marvelous strength and certainty that dwelt in her frame and add it to his own. He knew. He knew that having Call help him, that doing the research… it was just a panacea. Even if he discovered every little secret of the pillars, even if he found a way to wake Twilight, it would still fall into the hooves of the doctors. He knew that there were so many more parts of this. Even if he found it, he was no unicorn mage. Whatever magic was involved… he’d still have to give that to others. It hurt to admit, but Twilight’s fate was not in his hands. No matter how he tried to help her, he would always be just a stepping-stone. Just as Gossamer Gauze had received the praise for saving Twilight, Spike knew that it would be the doctors who woke her who would get their faces on the magazines, who would be applauded at conferences. “… but I know you’re not gonna give up,” Dash concluded. “Even though you look like a train wreck, even though you‘ve got friends trying to help you, you’re not gonna quit, huh?” “Nope.” It would hurt. It hurt already. He remembered the creature that had stared at him in the bathroom mirror. He remembered his angry thoughts. He thought on his crippling exhaustion, his bleary eyes. He was losing himself… and it hurt on every level. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as, in the end, Twilight woke up. As long as he could go back to Ponyville, make her breakfast, get a goodnight hug… none of it mattered as long as he could get that back. His eyes lifted towards where the palace sat unseen beyond the walls of the adjacent buildings. His thoughts strayed back to a time when he had sat there, in Luna’s apartments, between Twilight’s forelegs, pressed to her chest in the same way that Dash held him now. As a magically sustained life had slowly ended on a daybed in front of them, they had kept their vigil and had talked about the little things. She and her dragon had spoken about life, love, and their little world. He had spoken a little truth, one that came back to him now. …and you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Twi, he recalled. “I’m going to keep my promise,” he whispered, letting the words sink into Dash’s coat. “Yeah, well,” Dash added, “as a responsible mare, I’m going to tell ya that I think you’re crazy, and that nopony wants to see you do this, and that I think that things are only gonna get worse for you before they get better.” Spike nodded. There was so much going on. There were things that he could not get his head around. Sombra. Pillars. Dark, horrible magic. Ancient secrets that a princess refused to help him with. It all was so big, so scary… …and he was just a little dragon. “And I’ll tell ya one more thing,” the pegasus said, drawing him back out of his reflections. “Yeah?” he said, turning his eyes up to her. “You’re awesome,” she said, her face bunching up in a smirk. “Heh,” Spike laughed. “Heh, you’re awesome, too, Dash.” “Yeah,” she said, drawing her hoof through his frills, “you know it!” “I’m sorry that happened to you, Dash,” Spike said, running his hand up and down her foreleg. “What’s that? What happened to me?” Dash answered. “The date,” he said. “I’m sorry some jerk jumped out a bathroom window on ya…” “Ha!” Dash laughed. “As if! I was the one who made the run for it! Seriously, Spike, this guy was a loser…” As Dash related her tale, the two sat laughing amid the garbage as the day grew full and Canterlot moved around them. Despite his best efforts, Spike made Fluttershy cry. They stood outside the granola bar, her eyes becoming misty as he told her of the way he’d escaped through the bathroom window, how he’d been disingenuous with her. A single tear rolled down her cheek as he explained what he had done, why he had tried to sneak away from the pair of pegasi. Great rolling spheres of water fell from her vast, blue eyes as she settled her jaw on his outstretched hands. “No, Spike, no,” she mouthed as he held her there, garnering only the occasional glance from the passing patrons of the granola bar as they came and went. As Dash looked on, Spike explained to Fluttershy why he had to forgo her wonderful offer, why he had to turn away from her offer of a day in the park, why he could not take up her offer of ice cream. When she began to protest, began to unleash her stare, he fell forward into her chest and begged her to understand. Despite his best efforts, Spike had made Fluttershy cry. Despite her hopes, and better judgment, she forgave him. Spike walked down the main corridor of the Royal Archive, the departing vision of the two pegasi’s saddened eyes hanging in his mind’s eye. He had walked deep into the archive and across the bridge joining the two sections when he looked up to discover Reference Desk, Artificer Call, and a squad of Royal Inventory Specialists examining a rather familiar looking sofa cushion. “The writ was gone?” asked one of the officious ponies. “No, that’s not right.” Spike spun around on one foot, whistled nonchalantly, and began making slow steps back towards the entrance, his eyes wide. So, yeah… I’m screwed… His steps became quicker as the sound of what he could only assume was an enchanted beeswax seal sliding out of a deflated cushion bounced down the hallway after him. Not good. Really, really not good… He hurried along, and his whistling becoming more rapid, as the silken sounds of what he could only conclude was a harness made of red tape spilled out into the corridor. Ohhhhh, shoot. Great wet drops of sweat appeared on his face, his feet moved him along at an alarmed bounce, and his whistling became an erratic grouping of shrill notes as Artificer Call’s voice lifted around the assembly. “Why, I’m quite certain that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding,” the palomino pony said, an air of certainty in his voice. “Why, there he goes now. Let’s ask him… ahoy-hoy, Spike, lad!” “Wah!” Spike cried, leaping down the corridor. “Not good, not good, not good, not good...” “Ribbit,” said the frog on the lily pad, staring up to the panting dragon whelp that pelted across the bridge. “I know, dude, I know!” Spike said, gesticulating wildly as he stopped for a moment. “Spike? Whatever is the matter?” Call said, his face appearing at the end of the bridge. Just beside his, the form of Reference Desk appeared as well, seeming to glide along on clouds of frost as her stare fell over him. “Eep!” the whelp squeaked, taking off once more. “Hey, kid! Stop!” called one of the bureaucratic ponies. “We need to talk with you!” The ball of red tape appeared before him as he pelted back into the library proper. Thinking quickly, the whelp dashed by it, and then quickly sidestepped behind the governmental globe. He held his hand over his mouth, stifling every little gasp and muffling each tiny breath across his fingers. The five ponies went prancing by, their heads locked on the distance, ignoring the officious orb as Spike snuck farther away, pressed against the surface. He crept along the cords of red tape, slowly making his way around. As he went he kept his eyes and ears on the departing figures of the officials, making sure that he went undetected. Having reached the far side of the ball, he tiptoed away… and straight into the face of an equally distracted Carbon Copy. “Wah!” cried the little whelp, his arms flailing through the air. “Gah!” wailed the stallion, his secret papers flying out around him. “Shhhhhhh!” they motioned to one another, each competing to bring silence back to the room. Their mutual act continued, each leaning forward to shush the other with furrowed brows. Even as their little admonitions continued, the two loudly battling each other in an ironic quest for silence, two more ponies advanced upon them. Spike and Carbon Copy felt a chill go across them, as though the very dark side of the moon had covered them in its icy folds. A frigid air, one as thick and inescapable as a double-parked glacier, fell over them, chilling them to the very roots of their souls. The two felt a gaze drop over them, and they slowed their mutual shushing, turning their heads by fractions of inches to discover the cold, resolute, terrifying gaze of a librarian meeting theirs. She held something up to Spike, and it was revealed to be the harness he had made from the red tape, its colors matching the stains that still sat on his scales, betraying his guilt. “This,” Reference Desk said, her tone invoking horrors beyond thought, “is a bannable offense.” And then, to their everlasting horror, her eye twitched, revealing the utmost depths of her consuming, burning rage. “Spike,” Call said, more than a small amount of hurt showing in his voice. “This certainly has to be some sort of misunderstanding. Right… dear boy?” Spike, and Carbon Copy too, could scarcely be bothered to attempt to hear his words. Instead, the two withered under the frozen, immobilizing glare of the librarian. “You,” she said in her cool, even voice, “have violated the rules…” Carbon Copy had no idea what was going on, but as Reference Desk’s words drifted over him, he found himself joining Spike in leaping backwards. Their frames thudded against the giant ball of red tape behind them, pressing themselves against it to escape the torturous onslaught of the librarian’s judgment. “Yahhhh!” they screamed, their voices filling the library. Spike pressed harder against the orb of cloth, pushing against it as Carbon Copy did the same, both attempting to push themselves deep within the crimson folds, to escape the cutting, driving glare of the mare. The calamity reached a crescendo when both suddenly felt themselves lying flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling high overhead. Unfortunately, the cause of their new positions was revealed as none other than the ball of red tape itself. The mass of the ball had given way under their fevered attempts to escape the librarian’s glare, and as if it too wished to flee her glower, the orb had begun to roll away. “Uh oh,” Spike said, tilting his head backwards. “That’s not good.” The Royal Survey Crew had heard the cry of alarm and had come trotting back into the main hall of the library. They arrived just in time to be pounced upon by a massive, tumbling ball of red tape. Their eyes went wide as the sphere began to loom above them, and cries of their own rang out through the library as they went pelting off, the red tape in hot pursuit. From their vantage point Spike, Carbon Copy, Reference Desk, and Artificer Call all stood and watched as the officious orb, rolling along on tiny imperfections in the surface of the ancient floor, pursued the Royal Survey Crew around and around the archive, seemingly unconcerned for the stacks of books, tables, and ancient manuscripts as it did so. “Yeah,” Spike repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s really not good.” Wails of library patrons filled the air, their cries of panic being met by those who were shushing them in response. That lasted until those patrons too were caught up in the advancing wave of terror that preceded the approaching globe of crimson bunting. The heads of the four onlookers panned back and forth as the panicked masses ran from one side of the archive to the other, pursued each time by a ball of red tape. Spike peeked out from behind his own hand, still actively engaged in pinching the bridge of his nose as it was, to witness the ball rolling back the way it had came. There was the sound of something old, expensive, and well-reviewed being flattened, and an accompanying chorus of treasures of Equestrian literature meeting their undeserved ends. “Not good,” he whimpered as he closed his eye again. The calamity continued for a good, solid minute, the Mane Hall of the Royal Canterlot Archive seeing the greatest conflagration of destruction that it had witnessed since the Great Bingo Riots of its earliest days. Spike could only listen as cherished books met their ends, ponies abandoned their theses to scream in unrestrained horror, and a few dedicated bibliophiles attempted to calm the masses with continued shushing. He winced as the sound of something spontaneously combusting filled the space. As the sprinkler system kicked into action Spike let loose a sigh, listening as the unmistakable sounds of poultry squawking met his ears. For some reason he was unsurprised, no more so than when a marching band of some sort apparently went running across the archive, they too being pursued by the massive globe of governmental twine. “Great,” he whispered. “Just great.” Eventually, it ended. As a few last drips of water fell from the ceiling, the groaning, heaving masses of ponies picked themselves off the floor. They called to one another, cursed in pain, or screamed to the sun and moon about the injustices visited upon them… namely the loss of the page they were on in their books. In the middle of it all sat one last dedicated reader, unaffected by the catastrophe, still shushing the denizens of the archive. Spike listened as the distinctive hooffalls of Reference Desk passed him by, and as the librarian’s presence wafted over the remains of the room, all went silent, everyone feeling the cold, frosty currents of the emotions that sat over her. “Torn page, bent spine,” she said, lifting a book. “Three weeks banning from the library.” Oh no… Spike thought, startling a little. “Torn page, bent spine, water damage,” she said, lifting another. “Five weeks banning from the library…” Oh no, please, no… On and on it went, the librarian walking slowly through the remains of her domain, cataloging the damaging, metering out her justice upon the little whelp as she went. “Water damage, fire damage,” she said, her chilly tones filling the air, making a visible fog as it met the moisture that lingered within. “Marching band damage, poultry damage… two months banning from the library.” Twilight, he thought, hiding behind his hand, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Eventually, Reference Desk appeared back amid the group, her presence hanging over them in cascading tones of arctic judgment. “Lying,” she added. “One month banning from the library…” It bit you, dummy. It came back and bit you. Spike managed to make his other arm move. Slowly he managed to drop it towards the haversack that still sat slung across his body. Upon reaching it, he fished through until he found something that sat within. “This probably isn’t the best time to mention that I took a reference book out of the archive by mistake, huh,” he said, lifting it towards where he assumed the librarian stood, his eyes still closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Three weeks banning,” she added. There was the unmistakable sound of Artificer Call swatting his forehead. A chicken clucked in the distance. Spike walked slowly through the streets of Canterlot’s educational district, Artificer Call at his side. The dragon gripped at the strap of the haversack, twisting it over and over. He managed to lift his head up to face Call once or twice, but each time the distant stare of the stallion did not meet his. Instead, the historian kept his face forward, and his hooves kept a steady cadence on the cobblestones. The sounds of students met them as they crossed a corner of Canterlot University, and the happy, lively voices of the young mares and colts contrasted with the feelings that fell through the little drake. “C-Call?” he finally managed. “I’m s-sorry. I’m super-sorry that I lied to you. I’m really, really sorry that I caused so much trouble.” There was a moment of silence. The stallion’s body turned, and Spike shuffled his feet a little as the stallion changed direction. Spike jumped from side to side, trying to figure out why the historian would do so. He saw Call begin to angle down a street, and he lifted his feet to follow. “I can’t say that I’m not disappointed,” Call answered. Spike came to a stop, twisting the strap on the haversack even harder. “I am disappointed. Upset even, dear boy,” the stallion said, his voice as reserved and unattached as Spike had ever heard it. “You can scarcely know how much harder you’ve just made it for us. You can scarcely know what favors I must now call in…” Spike stood there, watching Artificer Call go farther and farther up the street. Twilight… Spike felt his arms lift, and he wiped his face across the back of each. The tears began to gather across his arms, making the scales slick and shiny. Spike coughed a little, fighting to keep himself in check, a battle that he was losing more and more each day. Just as he felt himself starting to come undone, just as the tears were about to begin flowing in earnest, he looked up. Call had stopped, and the stallion stood there, staring back down the tidy, tree-lined street to the whelp. With a sigh, the stallion’s face lost its detached gaze and fell back into one that, if not his usual soft expression, was close enough. “Though,” he said, adjusting his glasses with his hoof, “I do forgive you.” Spike ran the back of his arm across his face once more, and then ran forward to catch up with the stallion, the haversack trailing out behind him as a small smile erupted across his face. “Welcome, dear boy, to my humble abode,” Artificer Call stated. The brick row house had seemed plain enough from the outside, but inside it seemed a treasure trove of artifacts, books, and maps. As Spike looked around he could see his imaginary Twilight running around, giggling happily as though she were a filly on Hearth’s Warming Day. He smiled as he watched her prancing in place as she looked over ancient maps and squealing happily as she examined antique tomes. He then startled in place and began rubbing his eyes as he realized he was imagining Twilight again. When he finally opened them, he found himself looking up to a vast painting. His mind quickly flew through some words, ones that Twilight had related to him while reading some art books. Oil paint, portrait, character study… these words all flashed through his tired perceptions. He looked at the young stallion in the portrait. The landscape behind him suggested some fantastic foreign place. The colt was bestrewn with all sorts of adventuring gear, and a pith helmet stood proudly upon his head. A flash of a smile stood out on his face as he stood leaning forward, one hoof already off the ground, as though impatient to begin a journey. “Quite the brash young fellow, isn’t he?” Call asked, appearing in the sitting room with two mugs, one of some aromatic coffee, another of hot chocolate. “Yeah!” Spike said. “He looks like he’s gettin’ ready for some adventures and exploring and stuff. I’d like to do something like that some day. I’d like to go see all this stuff we’ve been reading about.” “Perhaps some day you will,” Call answered. “Much like our handsome, beguiling, intelligent, engaging friend in the portrait.” Spike arched an eyebrow, pondering the earth pony. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he said, taking a sip of his cocoa. “Ha!” answered Artificer Call. “Good eye, lad! Good eye!” Spike watched him as he gestured to a few piles of items around the room. Here sat maps, compasses, sextants, and even more items of interest to explorers and adventurers. “The portrait was done by a young mare many, many… many, many years ago, one who smelled of hyacinth and who had the most perfect laugh. Her voice fell down into giggles whenever I ran my hoof across the gentle curves of…” The stallion startled, blushed, and then looked to Spike. He looked down to discover that the whelp was still regarding him with an arched eyebrow. “Yes, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, “excuse me, dear boy. But, as I was saying, I was part of the Equestrian Geographic Society back in the day. I was an artificer, perhaps unsurprisingly, and I saw a great number of wonders.” “Wow,” Spike said. “Hey, ummm… what is an artificer, actually?” “An artificer is somepony with a specific skill set, and mine was for using the tools of exploration,” he answered, lifting his hoof across the room. Spike looked on as more and more treasures revealed themselves. Not merely things of great monetary worth, but treasures of the mind, of knowledge. Artifacts, totems, and gifts all sat before him. Spike let his eyes settle across all of these items, across the grand exhibit of Artificer Call’s prowess as an adventurer, a historian, and explorer. “Wow!” Spike said, looking up to the stallion. “These are awesome! Did you find them all?” “Oh, yes, though some were presented to me,” Call answered. “They came to me across all of the long years of my time in the field, before I settled down and wrote all forty-one editions of my books… before I had to leave my profession…” “Wh-what happened?” Spike asked, staring at Call’s reflection in the mirror. Spike saw the stallion’s ears droop and shoulders slump. There was a sigh, one that hung heavily in the dust that sat around Call’s home. “Something awful, dear boy. Something dreadful,” Call said, his voice small and distant. He lifted his head, and with a forced grin he revealed the context of his horror. “I got old.” Silence sat around the home. Only the synchronized ticking of several antique clocks from various foreign lands met Spike’s ears. After a moment, Spike leapt down from the box of books that he had been standing on and walked over to Call. He was only a little dragon, a young boy, but there was an ability that he possessed that had always been keenly endorsed by those who knew him best. In that moment, he shared it with Call. “Call,” he said, wrapping his arms around the stallion’s forelegs in a hug, “I’m sorry that I got into so much trouble today. I’m sorry that I caused a problem. I’m very, very, very, very, very, very glad that you are still helping me. If… if you weren’t, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d… I think I’d go crazy…” Call chuckled as he patted the whelp on the head. “It is simply an error you made, and you now have to deal with the consequences. Besides, I think that it was best that we left the archive… Reference Desk’s flirting was becoming unprofessional.” Spike stifled a dubious laugh. As he did he felt Call motioning him back towards the tall, ornate mirror, one that seemed to have come from some faraway place. Spike lifted himself back onto the box of books, and he watched Call’s reflection as the stallion searched through what appeared to be a box of hats from all sorts of exotic locales. Spike stared into the mirror as Call lowered a fez onto his head. Flipping the cord so that it sat next to Spike’s ear, the stallion asked, “Have you ever worn a fez before, dear boy?” “Yeah,” Spike said, studying its reflection. “Yeah, but… not one this awesome.” “Indeed,” Call answered. “This one was once worn by a dear friend, and it means much to me. It is yours to wear whenever you are here working with me on our research.” “Thank you,” Spike said, smiling back to where Call sat in the mirror’s surface. “You are most welcome, lad,” Call answered, nodding proudly. “Now, let’s get to work…” “Princess Sparkle? Can you hear me?” Spike froze in place. He had returned to the hospital, once more bypassing the largely ineffective receptionist, and had proceeded to the West Wing Annex. His mind was alive with the events of the day. So many ups and downs, so many different emotions, all of them crammed into the hours that had gone by in a blur. He wondered how he would explain it all to Twilight, and what she would say when she learned... He stopped and smacked himself in the head for thinking that Twilight would be joining him in a conversation. It was as he stood there, reminding himself that he really, really, really needed to be careful about being heard talking to her as though she were capable of having a conversation, that he heard somepony doing just that. “Princess? Twilight Sparkle, Ma’am?” “Princess, can you hear me? Can you squeeze this ball between your hooves? Can you squeeze it with your magic?” They were two familiar voices… doctors. Spike pictured them, a mare and a stallion. Even though he stood just a few feet from the door to Twilight’s room, he did not move closer, not wanting to see the doctors poking her, prodding her… touching her… “No conscious response,” the stallion said. “Agreed,” said the mare. Spike’s stomach flipped. His hands went to his mouth, keeping him from making little noises of worry and shock as the doctors went through their diagnostics. There was a flash of light, and the fading crackle of magic drifted out into the hallway. “There are no magi-cerebral responses,” noted the stallion. “Indeed,” said the mare. “The princess showed no light sensitivity, either.” “Sun and moon,” the stallion said, letting the words slide out in a sigh. “If this were a regular coma, we’d be deep into brain damage and nervous system shutdown by this point.” “Sadly true,” the mare said, the sound of a notebook closing accompanying her voice as it fell into the hallway. “If it were a regular coma, I’d be suggesting to the family that we consider ending medical care.” “We still might have to.” “Sun and moon, may it never come to that. Can you imagine what it would mean to Equestria?” In the hallway, outside the sight of the doctors, a small boy was having an episode. Spike nearly swallowed his fist. Instead, he bit down on his hand, his teeth sinking so far into his scales that they seemed to bend and twist. His whole body shook, trembling with what the female doctor had said so casually. His left hand supported him, keeping him from collapsing against the wall. His hand quivered and shook, leaving irregular scratches across the surface of a whiteboard. His whole body convulsed around him. Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you… No! No, Twilight is going to wake up! “My goodness,” the mare continued. “I shudder to think about it. Not that I could, what with the insufferable heat in here. Why is it so warm?” “The dragon boy… whelp, thingy, guy… he keeps pushing up the heat,” the stallion answered. “It’s as though he doesn’t seem to realize spring is here.” Spike regained control of his body, the mentioning of himself bringing a whole different suite of emotions to the fore. “It is too warm in here. I wish that Comfort would be more forceful with him,” the mare said. “I wish he would leave,” the stallion added. “Agreed,” she answered. “Sun! Where are all the cups?” “The dragon uses them all.” “What does he do, eat them?” she asked, her tone one of detached criticism. “No, he lays them out over here, as though he expects her to use them, and then sends them off to be cleaned,” the stallion answered, the sounds suggesting that he was closing a medical bag. “Just take a drink from this cup.” “Thank you,” she answered. There was a hum of magic, and then the small, delicate sound of the mare taking a drink lifted out of the room. Spike’s flesh crawled with disgust. They were using Twilight’s glass. Twilight’s. Glass. They had stolen her rainbow. “Is that an oven mitt?” the stallion asked. “Did the dragon bring it? That’s not sanitary at all,” the mare answered. “Neither is the dragon. It’s starting to smell like an aquarium where one keeps lizards or iguanas in here,” he said, his voice a shadow of distant judgment. “I can’t understand why Princess Celestia let him stay. It’s not sanitary. It is favoritism, and it sure isn’t doing the dragon himself any favors. He looks awful. Have you seen him? He looks like he’s dying.” “I know,” the mare answered, the sound of an oven mitt hitting a garbage can sounding out as she spoke. “He put me off my lunch yesterday.” “Speaking of which, any plans for dinner tonight?” asked the stallion. Spike’s lip curled, and his fist balled. His fangs exposed themselves. How dare they have such a casual conversation while Twilight lay there. How dare they… flirt!... in front of her, their princess. The sound of hooves arose, and Spike fought to regain control of himself. “Splendid!” the stallion said, his heavier hooffalls leading the way. “Where would you like to go?” I’ll tell you where you can go, you basta… The ponies appeared in the hallway, looking at one another, not noticing him. “Oh, I don’t know!” she said, her voice suddenly light. “Any ideas? How…” “I know a granola bar,” Spike said. The two doctors startled, and then looked down across the whelp. Their eyes went from startled to distant, simply regarding the boy as though he were an unpleasant obstacle. Spike smirked to himself, remembering the types of ponies who had frequented the granola bar. “Yup,” he said, the smirk settling farther and farther across his face. “You two would fit right in there.” The two doctors looked at one another, and then trotted down the hallway, their hooves making the only other sound apart from the radio at the desk. Spike danced a small victory dance, whirling and twirling as he entered the room… and then he went still. He looked to Twilight, and as he approached her he found himself with so many things that he wanted to say. He closed his eyes, wanting to find some strength. Instead, all he found was the whir of white noise that filled his ears and the spinning motion of the roller coaster that seemed to be whipping him around in his exhaustion. When he opened his eyes, he had already leapt up on the bed, taken her hooves in his hands, and rested his head on them. I’m sorry, Twi, he thought. He lifted his head and looked around the room. Leaping back down he removed the oven mitt from the garbage. He sighed deeply. There was some paper waste in the bin, but there was a liner. Still, he couldn’t give it back to her now, not now that it had been in the garbage. I’ll wash it when we get home. Is that okay? he thought, placing the oven mitt in his haversack. I promise I will. He took one of the glasses out of the cupboard above the sink, the tallest one that the doctor could not have been bothered to check. He walked over to the dresser nearest Twilight, placing it there for her. There you go, Twi. His eyes fell across a traitor. He grumbled, and then picked up the glass that the doctor had desecrated by touching it to her lips. He walked to the door, looking up and down the hallway, making sure that he was alone. Seeing that the nurse was sitting at the far end of the hall, he nodded his approval, walked to the window… … and threw the glass out into the quiet street below, waiting until he heard it shatter into a million pieces. Wiping his hands together, he congratulated himself on a job well done. He tried to lift Precepts of Innovational Magic Theory, but, to his surprise, his strength gave out, and his hands refused his commands. He kicked the book open, and when he tried to read, pinpricks of light fell through his vision, and the words blurred on the page. “So much for that, Twi,” he said, lifting his head back up to her. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’ll read you two chapters tomorrow. Okay?” He stood there, awaiting her reply, knowing she could not. His head fell across the edge of the bed, and once more he grasped her hoof. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I’m sorry I left today. Nothing good happened. I should have stayed.” He watched her for a moment. “Well, I got a new fez,” he said. “That’s good. Fezzes are cool.” She said nothing. “The thing is, Twi? I… I kinda got banned from the library,” he said, some small hesitation in his voice. “Yeah, I… I got banned for…” Spike did some calculations on his fingers. “…for three point four seven billion years. Yeah.” Twilight’s shock was absent. “I’m sorry, Twilight,” he said. “Twilight, I’m so sorry. I screwed up so bad, and I’ve got everyone so worried, and now everything is so much harder and I’m scared and I’m tired and I hurt all over and I… I…” He let his head fall down across her foreleg. “I miss you, Twi,” he said, the thousands of chimes once more ringing in his ears, his exhaustion shutting his body down as his mind watched it happen. “I miss you so much…” The dragon did not build his nest that night. Instead, he simply lay there, across the edge of the bed. His body, spirit, and mind were all too frail, worn, and fatigued to even protest the odd position as he tumbled into a fitful sleep, his hand still wrapped around her hoof.