A World Without Princesses

by PonyTom


Chapter 14 - In the Dark of the Night A

"Now remember, ya wanna be polite an' make sure ya pay attention to every word she says! Hang on to 'er like ye'd fall to yer death if ya let go." Macintosh grimaced a bit at his grandmother, lamenting her particular choice in analogy and wondering if it was intentional or accidental. Granny spat on her hoof and brushed Mac's mane down, much to the irritation of the stallion in question. She stared at it in judgement for a few seconds, until it popped back into place like a spring, earning an approving nod from the elder nag. "Also remember, try to talk, but don't overexert yourself. I dunno if she knows about yer condition, but a mare don't need her coltfriend t' give her big long speeches, he jus' has t' say enough t' let 'er know he cares."

Macintosh sighed. "Not technically her coltfriend..."

"Oh hush," said Granny chidingly as she stepped back to appraise her grandson. He was dressed in a blue coat, designed more for appearances than any form of function, with his beloved green bandanna still wrapped around his neck as it always was. "Yer jus' like yer pa was when he was young. 'She ain't my mare friend' he'd say. 'We're just friends' he'd say... then I caught 'em neckin' in the barn!" Macintosh grimaced, trying to avoid any mental images that might conjure up for him. "Next thing ya know, I wake up to the sound of a baby cryin' an' them scramblin' to feed his bottomless stomach!" She stepped beside Macintosh and gave him a pat on the back. "Always wondered where you put it all, you was so dern tiny!"

"It was a delayed reaction," said Braeburn with a nod and a grin, "he got fat as he got bigger."

Macintosh denied his cousin any satisfaction in an expressive response, remaining stoic as always. "I'm not fat."

"Oh hush," said Granny, swatting Braeburn's side before smiling re-assuredly towards Big Mac. "Most of all though, you jus' remember to have a good night, an' be on yer best behavior." Granny stepped forward and gave Big Mac a hug, which he returned. She pulled away and smiled at him with those gentle, caring eyes that a grandmother always seemed to have. A knock at the door, however, brought everypony's attention back to the world. "Aw shucks, you finish dressin' up, an' I'll answer that." Macintosh nodded, turning his attention to the mirror on his grandmother's table and looking himself over. He was certain he had everything he'd need. He had his canteen in his pocket, filled with honey water just in case, and a pocket watch to keep the time. "Big Mac," he heard from downstairs, "You got a guest!"

"Hm?" Macintosh was a bit surprised, as he wasn't expecting anypony to come for him. The stallion gave himself one last quick look over in the mirror, deciding he was good enough as is, before making his way out of his grandmother's room. "Didn't expect her to send for me. Wonder if somethin's wrong?" Big Mac descended the staircase and into the living room to find something that he wasn't really expecting. Twilight Sparkle was sitting on his grandmother's rocking chair, waiting for him, and while he did not consider himself one to be a critique of appearances, she definitely had seen better days. Bags under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept recently, her disheveled mane much the same, and the hat she always seemed to wear even seemed slightly tilted, but when he saw the scar on her cheek, his head started racing with possibilities.

"Twilight? Y'alright?" He moved towards her, looking her over a bit. "Ya look awful..."

Twilight, however, grimaced hard. "Yeah, like you couldn't stand to lose a few pounds." Big Mac winced just slightly, looking off to the side a bit, though Twilight wilted and sighed in dejection. "I-I'm sorry... I haven't slept in twenty four hours, I-I'm not thinking clearly..." The words had stung, though, and Big Mac still seemed visibly hurt. Twilight frowned. "I'm being honest, I-I really am sorry, you look fine, I'm just very, very terrified, and I really, really am sorry..."

As he looked at this mare, this disheveled, shaken mare, Macintosh decided it best to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Salright," he said with a nod and a smile, though his expression shifted quickly back to concern. "Now," he said, his tone gentle enough not to make her tense, but firm enough to let her know he's taking her seriously, "tell me what's wrong? What happened?"

Twilight took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. She was silent a few seconds. Macintosh considered re-iterating himself just to be sure she heard, but she spoke on her own. "I was attacked, and the attackers stole the book."

Well, that was certainly not good news. They had worked so hard for that book, after all. Heck, Big Mac had nearly died for it on a few occasions. Still, he turned his attention to what was in front of him right now; he could worry about the book later. "Are ya okay?"

Twilight quirked a brow, seeming confused by his question, though Macintosh couldn't imagine why. "What?"

Big Mac stepped closer, looking her over a bit once more. "Are ya okay? How badly did they hurt ya?" She noticed he was paying a lot of attention to her cut, so she put a hoof on her cheek and brushed it; it had healed for the most part, but Macintosh could tell by looking at it that it might leave a scar.

"How I am is unimportant," she said, shaking her head, "They took the book! The book that could very well lead to Equestria's salvation or destruction! How I am is kind of inconsequential when the safety of Equestria might be in jeopardy, don't you think?" Macintosh stared quietly at her for a few seconds, and she noticed he was frowning. He seemed almost upset at her response even. 'Great,' she thought to herself, 'what did I say this time?'

Macintosh, however, simply shook his head at the mare, placing a hoof on her shoulder. "How ya are is not unimportant at all, Miss Sparkle." Twilight looked up to him, a bit perplexed. This was a book that could possibly unmake the world for all he knew, and he was putting weight on her own well-being? What logic was there in that? What was one pony's life against the whole of Equestria? The world? If she died today, the world would continue to spin, but if Nightmare Moon got hold of that book the same probably could not be said.

Twilight was quiet for a bit, staring at the stallion a few moments. Whatever tension she usually exerted, however, seemed to relinquish a bit as she gulped and looked a little off to her side. "Y-yeah," she said, soft and uncertain, almost bashfully even, in a way Macintosh had never seen her act before; almost vulnerable. "I-I'm fine... a little shaken... kind of scared... little sleepy..."

Big Mac nodded, looking around to make sure they were alone. When he didn't see any of his family members around, he leaned forward and whispered so that only the mare before him could hear. "And Spike?"

Twilight smiled a little, more relief visible than anything else. "He's fine... Pinkie's watching him until I can secure the house. It was tough sneaking him into town without anypony noticing, but I'm used to being sneaky." She gave a light nod to punctuate her point, before looking down at her hooves. "When you mess with the things I mess with, you kinda have to be..."

Macintosh nodded, pulling back a bit, giving Twilight more space. "Now, tell me what happened."

Twilight took a breath and released it as a shaky sigh. She relayed the story to him; her tense and uncertain trip home, the thieves, the injury, the book, everything. When she had told him that one of the thieves was a pegasus, she could see his muscles tense, and the addition of the griffon seemed to confuse him more than anything else. When the story was done, the room was quiet for a few minutes. He reached into his coat and withdrew his flask, opening it and drinking some of the liquid inside to soothe his throat. "This pegasus," he asked, seeming almost cautious as he spoke, "was she...?"

Twilight shook her head in response. "No, she... she was an ordinary pegasus... feathers and all..." Twilight paused at that, then shook her head again. "K-kind of... she's a noble... or a former noble, anyway, from the Rainbow Clan." Big Mac's confused expression was an indicator that he had no idea what she was talking about. Twilight sighed, shaking her head. "I research Pegasus history on top of everything else I study..."

Big Mac nodded, looking off to the side, moving his jaw around nervously. "I see." He was silent for a few moments, before he looked up at Twilight, frowning. "So... what happens now?"

Twilight bit her lip. She seemed as if she hadn't really come up with an answer herself, likely too tired and scared to think properly. "W-well," she said, gulping, "I took notes, and I still have all the information that I could find in the book relating to the Elements of Magic, so I can still find them... but now I'm in a race against somepony else who wants them, possibly Nightmare Moon..."

That wasn't reassuring. It was difficult doing what they had already managed to do, but he figured it would be downright impossible for Twilight do do the rest by herself. "You mean we're in a race against somepony else." Twilight looked toward Big Macintosh in uncertainty. He simply nodded to the mare. "I promised I'd help, an' I intend to do so."

Twilight frowned, shaking her head. "You've done too much already... I-I didn't expect this, it's too dangerous--"

"And that is why I'm going to help," Macintosh interrupted Twilight. The mare stared at him silently, so he decided to continue. "If it's so dangerous, than you doin' it alone won't help nopony. Might even get you hurt. I'd be no kind of stallion to let somepony go off and get hurt when I coulda done something." Macintosh looked towards the window, seeing that it was already too late to be leaving town. "I suggest for safety's sake you don't leave the town 'til tomorrow. Go to a hotel, or stay with Pinkie if ya can."

"Y'all can stay in th' guest room t'night, if it's any help."

Big Mac and Twilight jumped, turning to see Granny smiling at them. The elder mare made her way into the room, chuckling a bit to herself. "Sorry t' eavesdrop, but I heard some of what ya said, an' I jus' can't send a poor girl so frightened outta her gourde out into the streets at this hour!"

Twilight was a bit surprised, and she shook her head a bit. "Oh, n-no, I'd hate to impose--"

"Oh hush," said Granny, waving a hoof at the reluctant mare, "ain't no thang! We Apples are one-a the most hospitable families in all Equestria! Just feel free to take off yer hat an'--"

"No!" Twilight said, perhaps too loud. It seemed to catch Granny by surprise. She giggled nervously, placing a hoof on her hat and straightening it a bit. "N-no, no thank you," she said with a nod, blushing at bit from her own outburst as she cleared her throat, "I-I don't like taking my hat off... not to be rude, but it... it comforts me..."

Big Mac looked to Granny, who stared silently at the mare a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, I hear ya... kinda like Big Mac with that there bandanna 'round his neck." She pointed at the piece of cloth in question. "Never takes it off if he can help it." This urged Macintosh to half-consciously brush his hoof against the cloth that he wore around his neck. Granny saw this, frowning somewhat and looking back to Twilight. "... I guess some ponies jus'... have lil' things that give 'em comfort." Twilight nodded gently, still holding onto her hat. Granny Smith cleared her throat and trotted towards Macintosh. "Alrighty, well, we'll take care'a Twilight here. Y'all go enjoy yourselves." Macintosh nodded, looking towards Twilight who offered a mirthless smile. He frowned a bit, wondering if she was going to be alright, before stepping outside the door with his grandmother's urging. As he stepped outside, Granny Smith sighed happily, watching him trot down the dirt path off the farm, towards the city. She closed the door, stepping inside, and past Twilight, into the kitchen, where Braeburn sat, eating an apple fritter. She pulled him close, much to his surprise, and spoke quietly.

"Brae," she said, trying to make sure he was listening, but continuing on without an answer, "there's a sweet lil' mare in there who's very scared, an' very vulnerable, who could use a nice, strong stallion to sweep 'er off her hooves!"

Braeburn swallowed his bite of fritter, sighing and shaking his head at his grandmother. "I've tried to flirt with 'er, I think she's a lost cause."

"'Cause you act like a dog with a bone, boy!" She swatted him in the back of the head, earning a hiss from him. "Sometimes it's th' simple stuff that matters! Now, go in there an' lead 'er up to the guest room, ask 'er if there's anything you can do for 'er, an' if she needs ya to come find ya! The rest is up t' you to figure out!"

The golden stallion didn't seem entirely convinced, but a shrug and a sigh convinced her he would try. Braeburn stepped out from the kitchen and into the living room. "So, Twilight," he said, trying hard to repress a lot of his usual 'charm'. "Need me to show you to your room while you're staying with us?"

Granny watched as Braeburn and Twilight made their ways up the stairs. She looked away, grinning slyly. "Any luck, by th' end of this night both mah boys'll have mare friends!"


Walking down the now familiar hall of the Rich mansion did not leave Big Mac any less impressed than he was last time. While he still felt he had made the right decision in turning down the Riches' offer, seeing the manor from the inside often left him wondering if it was the best one. 'Eeyup,' he simply thought to himself, 'Apple Bloom doesn't need to grow up spoiled... even if a house like this'd be nice.' Led by a servant into the house, Macintosh was greeted halfway to the dining hall by Nightingale, who seemed almost joyful at seeing him. She wore a purple dress with black trims, her mane pulled up into a bun, with a hint of makeup on her face. "Macintosh," she said happily, curtsying him. He was not used to such treatment, so he responded by bowing just slightly, hoping he was being proper without being overly dramatic. "Sorry I could not greet you at the door, I had to be sure I looked perfect."

"Salright," said Big Mac with a nod, smiling. "You look lovely tonight." Nightingale smiled and nodded in thanks, before turning around and continuing forward. To his surprise, they stepped past the dining hall, and made their way out into the garden of the mansion. There waited for them a table, two plates, and a candle in the middle. Nearby was a group of ponies playing various instruments; the gray mare with the cello struck Macintosh as familiar, but he didn't linger on it. The servant pony seated them both, and Macintosh took a moment to admire his surroundings.

"Is everything to your liking?"

Macintosh looked towards her, seeing the mare staring intently at him with those big, beautiful eyes. He simply smiled. "It's nice," he said. He considered telling her that it was all unnecessary, and that a simple dinner would be nice, but decided against essentially telling her the extra effort was wasted. It wasn't long before a couple of servants were by their sides, filling their glasses with a familiar liquid, asking Macintosh if he needed a side of honey-water (to which he accepted), and making sure they were comfortable.

"The chef will be done with our meals momentarily," said Nightingale, her full attention on Macintosh, "until then, I was hoping that we might converse a little? Just get to learn a bit about each other?" Big Mac smiled a bit at the mare before him. 'She actually wants to get to know me? Maybe she is serious about this whole 'relationship' thing...'

"Well," said Macintosh, nodding, "Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself then?"

Nightingale nodded, sighing a bit and looking up at the stars. "Well," she began, looking as if she were trying to pick a memory or story to tell in her mind, "I'm educated, as you may have well guessed, a graduate of Manehattan University. I grew up admittedly pampered, but never lacking a love for adventure..." She giggled a bit, smiling as the memories seemed to run through her mind. "Why, once, when I was a filly, I followed a turtle around all day just to see what turtles did when nopony was watching."

Macintosh smirked. "Anything happen?"

The mare only smirked. "I watched it get snatched by a bird, likely intent on challenging it's nature-granted shell by dropping it on a rock or something, but nothing more." She waved a hoof dismissively, shrugging. "I like to think myself an artist, skilled in poetry, painting, music, as well as an intellectual, with a fascination in philosophy and history." Macintosh whistled a bit, impressed. He could only imagine being able to do all of that, let alone just bits of it. "I admit, I've never really wanted for anything, but I like to think I'm not a mare of needs. After all, money is a means, not an end."

Macintosh nodded, smiling at the mare. It was nice to get to know more about this mare who, up to this point, seemed to have more carnal interests in mind. After a few seconds of silence, he realized that she was staring at him, smiling, as if waiting for something, though he knew not what. It then hit him she likely wanted him to say something about himself in return, though talking about himself was not something he was used to. "Well," he said a bit nervously, rubbing the back of his neck a bit with a hoof, "Not much t' me... I work on a farm, didn't finish school, an' I play poker with some friends once a month."

Nightingale stared at him silently a few seconds. "So," she said at length, "you never finished school? Why not?"

Big Mac frowned a bit. "My pa died."

Nightingale bit her lip, clearly regretting her choice of questions. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't--"

"Salright," he said, holding a hoof up and smiling at her. "Been years, after all. Neither my pa or my ma would want me t' worry over 'em after this long."

Nightingale, however, seemed to tense up more with this statement. "... Your mother too?"

Big Mac nodded. "Died during child birth... though we kinda suspect it was half because she lost 'er will to live when she lost pa."

If the Rich mare wasn't uncomfortable before, she was now. She shifted visibly, and seemed at a loss for words. "I'm... sorry for your losses..."

"Salright," he said with a shrug, looking at the table for a moment before switching his attention back to her. "Granny was all we had left to tend the farm. Applejack hadn't even gotten her cutie-mark. I was old enough to work, so I decided to quit school an' help Granny." Nightingale looked off to the side, rubbing a hoof over her foreleg. Macintosh grimaced some, looking at his hooves. "Sorry, I reckon that's not th' best story to tell at a date is it?"

"No," she said softly, much to Big Mac's surprise. "It is a great story. I... I just didn't know..."

Big Mac smiled. "Don't talk about it much cause it doesn't usually need to be said." This, however, did not seem to ease the tension. The stallion leaned forward. "Me an' my pa were champions of the six-legged races at our family reunions though." This seemed to make the mare's glum demeanor shift. 'Good, that worked!'


The rest of the night had been a rather great one, at least by Big Mac's standards. The food was delicious, the music was relaxing, and he and Nightingale had such fun conversations. They enjoyed sharing various stories, jokes, and other conversation topics. He had even shared with her a drink of some sort of fancy foreign wine -- it tasted awful, and the two spent a good time talking and laughing about how terrible it tasted, comparing terrible things they've tasted before, while continuing to drink the terrible tasting liquid as if it were some masochistic ritual, laughing and enjoying themselves (and the looks on their faces with each drink) all the while. Eventually, however, it was getting too late, and Macintosh realized that he could not simply stay there all night, enjoyable though his time was being.

"Are you sure you must leave? The night is still young," said Nightingale, a frown on her face as she and Macintosh stood at the front door to the manor. Much as he would like to stay, he knew that he needed to get home eventually.

"Eeyup," said Big Mac with a nod. "Got a full day of work tomorrow, and I'd hate to give Apple Bloom any reason to stay awake past her bedtime."

"Before you go," said Nightingale, stepping closer, "Let me give you a parting gift?"

Big Mac frowned, hearing the tone in her voice, the look in her eyes. These were hints she usually gave when she dragged him to hidden places, and each time things got progressively more intimate, and it was hard enough to refuse her advances as it was. "'Gale, I don't think--" She pressed a hoof gently to his lips, shushing him. She leaned forward, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

She lingered for a bit, but pulled away.

Macintosh blinked a few times, and saw her smiling at him, realizing only now that the look in her eyes was not sultry, but soft. "Of everypony I've ever met, Macintosh... I suspect you are among the most noble."

Big Mac smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Shucks, 'Gale..."

"Please," she said, brushing his cheek with a hoof, "if you ever need anything... please come to me. A stallion like you deserves so much more than he gets." Big Mac didn't know if he agreed, but he nodded in acknowledgement. He placed a hoof on hers, smiling down to her.

"I will."

Macintosh bid farewell once more and turned, walking down the path. He looked back to see her wave once more, shutting the door, but watching him until it was closed. As he left the mansion that night, Big Mac found himself looking up at the stars on his trip home. It really was a beautiful night, wasn't it? He smiled at the starry sky, letting his cares drain away. The worries, the fears, the terror of the past month? It all seemed so small now, so insignificant.

He didn't know if he was in love or not, but for some reason, he felt exceptionally happy.

Big Mac walked along the empty streets of Ponyville that night, feeling unusually joyous. Perhaps there was something there? Perhaps. Still, he would not forget his mistakes with Cheerilee. The thought made him frown a bit. 'No,' he thought to himself, 'no reason to think that way right now. Tonight's too good a night to waste on the past.' Raising his head, Big Mac gave a firm nod to affirm this decision, and continued his stroll home. His pace stopped though when he noticed something in the corner of his eye; a familiar orange filly heading into an alley. As soon as he saw her, he felt tense, and curiosity edged into his mind. 'What's that little trouble-maker up to bein' out so late?' Children were all sleeping by this hour, and even he didn't feel particularly safe wandering the streets this late. Big Mac thought for a moment that the wise thing to do might be to let it go...

But what if she did something wrong?

That question burned in his mind. Perhaps he was still angry about her stealing from him, but deep down he knew she was trouble. 'You may have Apple Bloom n' Granny fooled, but not me,' he thought to himself.

Macintosh skulked into the alley she had disappeared in. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of her just turning one herself, and from the brief glimpse he caught he saw she was carrying something. 'Likely stolen,' he thought as he crept along, trying to be quiet but trying not to lose track of the filly. He would follow her through a few twists and turns, enough to leave him wondering where she was going; many of the turns they took seemed to be made to intentionally lengthen the trip, perhaps to confuse pursuers? Did she know he was following? Or was she just cautious? If she was leading him to her home (he could only hope) he would make a point of telling her parents of her misdeeds. The little trouble-maker has a spanking a long time in the making, he knew.

His journey came to an end at a rather unexpected spot. She had led him into a back-alley, somewhere on the edge of the Pegasus District. He followed her, stopping as she turned a corner and peaking past. There, he saw Scootaloo approach a small, rather broken down home that had certainly seen better days. He watched her open the door and step inside, checking behind herself. He ducked behind the corner, hoping she wouldn't notice him. After a few moments of quiet, he slowly peaked back out to see the door had shut, and there was a faint glow in one of the windows. Macintosh quickly, but quietly, made his way to the broken old home, staying low and close to the walls to best avoid suspicion. As he reached it, he skirted along the house's walls until he reached the window. Slowly, he eased himself up to look inside.

And he paused.

The filly sat her scooter against a nearby wall, and set a box that he recognized as one of Pinkie Pie's bakery's boxes on a nearby box. Close to her was a mangy-looking dog that was missing bits of hair and looked like it hadn't eaten in a long time that sniffed at the pie, but amazingly did not touch it, only whimpering a bit, and on the floor was a pile of hay with a simple cloth. "Well, Mister Buttons," she said with a sigh, "I'm just really lucky that the crazy pink baker pony wanted to bake a late night pie, aren't I?" She frowned a bit, rubbing a hoof on her fetlock. "I was gonna steal it but... she just gave it to me. She said I could have it, free of charge, and smiled. She wasn't acting sorry for me or anything, it was like she was just being nice."

Mister Buttons responded with a whimper.

"You're a good dog, Mister Buttons," said Scootaloo with a smile. "You know, I'm going to be honest, I don't have many friends, so it's really nice to have you around. Give me somepony to talk to." Scootaloo looked at the dog, who only stared at her with big sad eyes. "You know, my friend has a dog. Her name is Winona. I bet you'd like her." She giggled a bit, much like a little filly. "I bet you two'd be a real cute couple! Maybe even have cute puppies!" If the dog knew what she was saying, it did not make it obvious. Scootaloo merely sighed. "Yeah, I know, I wish I had a family too."

Macintosh felt his heart sink a bit, and the edges of his mouth pulled down. He let his eyes look over the small hovel again; there was a hole in the roof that likely made it very wet during the rainy season, the walls were crumbling, almost every window in the place was either boarded or broken, and the smell hinted that this place had been used for a great many unpleasant things.

'Where is this filly's family...?

"Well," said Scootaloo with a sigh and a smile, "Let's eat!" She opened the pie box, and reached a hoof to scoop out some of it. However, at that instant, the dog knocked it off the makeshift table and away from her, leaping after it and started eating it greedily. "Hey, Mister Buttons," shouted Scootaloo as she turned after it, "We're supposed to share that!" The dog ignored her, however. She took a step forward, and in that instant, Macintosh's eyes widened in horror as he saw the look on the dog's face. It's jaws bared, it's snarl ravenous.

All at once, the dog was on her. Scootaloo let out a horrified shout and tried to run away, but the dog lunged and grabbed her rear leg and started thrashing wildly. Macintosh jumped through the window, breaking it and cutting himself along the way. Quickly, he rushed forward and struck the dog in the head. It let go of Scootaloo and stumbled a bit, and quick as he could, Macintosh turned around and kicked it with his hindleg, sending the creature tumbling across the room and hitting a nearby wall with a disturbing crack.

His heart was racing as he watched the creature lay limply on the ground. It wasn't moving, and he couldn't even see it breathing. 'D-did I just kill a dog...?' Macintosh felt a bit of guilt well in his stomach. He could barely kill a spider without feeling bad, but a dog? What kind of world was this when pony kills his best friend?

Macintosh's attention turned to the cause of this whole situation. Scootaloo lay on the floor, clutching her hindleg and whimpering. There was a lot of blood on her and on the termite-ridden wood below. He leaned down and looked her over. "How bad are ya...?"

"I-it hurts..." she whimpered, clutching the leg tight. As Macintosh looked it over, he saw that the dog had indeed gotten her deep, perhaps even bitten harder when it was struck. It was grotesque to look at the damaged, torn flesh on the filly's leg, but the sight only served to fuel the fire.

"Can you stand?"

Scootaloo let go of her leg, still whimpering, tears brimming in her eyes. Slowly, she rolled herself to favor the injury, but the moment she tried to pressure the leg, she yelped and fell back, gripping it again. Macintosh looked around the room frantically, seeing only her scooter and a wagon. 'That'll take too much time,' he thought to himself, as well as the mere indignity for the poor filly to be carted around like that, and the idea of running her around in it seemed almost as problematic as it was helpful. He leaned down next to her, close as he could. "Climb on. If it hurts, try to tough it out, we gotta get you to a doctor."

Scootaloo was slow moving, but she did get her hoof on his back. She let out a pained whine as she pulled herself onto his back, her injured leg trailing blood on his coat. He stood up, looking back at her. "I need you to hold on tight as you can. I'll be careful, but the longer we let that linger the more it stands to hurt you, alright?" The little filly merely nodded, breathing with shuddered breaths.

Big Mac hurried from that small house and out into the night. He cursed his lack of familiarity with the general area, and trotted from the alley and into a street. As soon as he got his bearings, he began to consider the layout of the town in his head and the location of the doctor's home. As he turned corners and passed homes, he would look back at the little filly on his back, and noticed she wasn't moving as much and seemed to be acting more sluggish.

"I'm gonna need you to stay awake," he said, worry creeping into his tone, "Whatever you do, stay awake!" The little filly merely nodded slowly, though that did little to cease his worries. After several more minutes of searching, he finally saw a familiar house in the distance. He hurried down the street and towards the familiar house.

Macintosh gave the door a strong, rapid knocking. When nopony answered, he knocked again. "Doc," he shouted, panting and heaving, "I got an injured foal here! Lemme in!" He looked back at Scootaloo. "How you holdin' up?"

But she didn't answer.

His eyes widened. "Scootaloo? Say somethin'!" But she continued to be silent. The door opened quickly, and once the doctor saw Macintosh and the filly, his eyes widened.

"Oh sweet mercy, get her in here right away and onto the couch!"

Macintosh was quick to get into the house, making his way towards the couch and gently easing Scootaloo onto it. The doctor rushed to her side and looked her over. "What happened!?"

"Dog bit her," said Big Mac in a raspy voice, his throat burning from the shouting.

"Oh dear..." The doctor leaned down and placed his ear close to her mouth, placing a hoof on one of her fetlocks. "She's still alive but she's clearly lost a lot of blood, gotta move fast!"

The doctor hurried across the room, gathering together various items from his desk and other spaces Macintosh couldn't keep track of. He kept his eyes on the little filly on the couch. Her breathing was so weak it was hardly noticeable, and much of her coat was darkened red by her own blood. This filly whom he practically hated since this had all begun was so horrifically injured. Barely alive.

And Macintosh had antagonized her ever since he met her.

His guilt would have to wait for later as the doctor returned to the filly. "Now, if you can hear me, this is going to sting..." The pony poured some disinfectant on a cloth and brought it down against the wound. Scootaloo only winced; something Macintosh knew was a small reaction with her particular wound, and it only served to raise his fears of her chances. The doctor then took and put another liquid on it; likely a numbing agent. As Scootaloo's expression relaxed, Big Mac felt worry overtake him more, uncertain if that was good or bad.

Big Mac spent several minutes pacing back and forth, glancing occasionally towards the doctor and the filly. He had to turn away when it came to the suturing, admittedly having a weak stomach and fearing throwing up would complicate matters. Soon, the wound was stitched up, and the doctor was taking another chance to look her over.

"Well, she won't likely get an infection, and we've done what we could," said the doctor with a sigh, looking at the filly with worry, "but she lost a lot of blood, and the injury looked pretty nasty..." He looked towards Macintosh, his expression one of concerned professionalism as Macintosh had ever seen. "She's in no condition to be moved around. She'll have to stay here overnight, and I'll watch her, make sure she improves."

Big Mac nodded. "Th......y...." His mouth moved to the words 'thank you', but nothing came out. His throat hurt too much. In all the stress, he might have taxed himself a bit more than he realized.

The doctor frowned. "Voice die on ya?" Big Mac responded with a quiet nod. The doctor merely sighed. "Follow me to the kitchen. I'll fix you a drink."


Macintosh had drank tea with the doctor for an hour. The doctor had asked him several questions; where he found her, what happened to the dog, if it looked rabid... he had told him everything, although he decided to leave out that he had followed her thinking she had stolen something and simply supplied that he had wondered why she was out so late (it wasn't technically lying). The doctor would check on her every fifteen minutes, and would always report she was still alive, though critical. Macintosh himself would look into the room at the poor little filly once in a while. The doctor had placed a blanket on her and given her a pillow, trying to make her comfortable. The more Big Mac looked at the filly, the more he felt guilt burn inside him.

"Would you like to rest here for the night? Make sure the filly gets better?"

Big Mac looked towards the doctor, shaking his head. "No, that won't be necessary." The doctor merely nodded, and Big Mac sighed, looking back at that little filly. "You think she'll be okay?"

"Who can say," said the doctor, his tone uncertain. "She looks to be in pretty poor condition... so it's really out of our hooves for now."

"Oh..." said Big Mac, frowning.

"Do you know her family? Certainly they would like to know."

Big Mac continued to look at the filly, his heart sinking a bit.

"No..."

The doctor responded with a quiet nod, looking at the filly again. "I suppose," he said with a sigh, "that if nopony comes looking for her or something, then I shall notify you of her condition tomorrow?"

"I would like that..."

As Macintosh said goodbye, he gave one last look at the little filly. That poor, broken little thing on the couch, clinging to life. The mere sight of her brought pain to his very core. Guilt. Self-loathing.

'I'm so sorry...' he thought to himself.

As he left the doctor's house and wandered back into the streets, he could only focus on that empty pit in his stomach, a guilt he couldn't place, and could not ignore.

TO BE CONTINUED...