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When Garble woke, it was late in the afternoon, and he had been relocated from the Everfree. His vision was initially blurry and he felt too sore to move, but from what he could tell, he was reclining on something soft and plush, and looking up at a white stone overhang. ‘I’ve never felt moss this soft,’ he thought. ‘And where in Equestria is the rock this light? It’s all beige and brown by the dragon craters...’
That was when Garble realized that it wasn’t a stone ceiling, nor was he lying on soft moss or grass. He wasn’t even outside. The white he was seeing was plaster, and he was occupying the entire length of a simple yet comfortable green sofa.
“Pony structures?” Now both alarmed and curious, he attempted to sit up. “GAH,” he wound up clutching at his side, which he found dressed and expertly bandaged.
“Oh, no, don’t move, please!” a pale yellow pegasus with a pink mane promptly appeared in an adjoining doorway. “You really shouldn’t move at all for a while,” she eased him back onto the couch. “You were really banged up when Twilight brought you in. You need time to heal.”
“I’m not taking orders from a namby-pamby pony!” Garble violently shoved her away.
“HEY! Don’t you DARE talk to her like that!” Now that was a familiar voice.
“Well, well, well. Long time no see, Rookie,” Garble jeered. Spike stomped forth in a most amusing fashion, cheeks all red and puffed up, tiny tendrils of smoke pouring out his nose.
“Don’t call me that,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
“Fine by me, shrimp.”
“Or that!”
“Hey, you asked for it, pony-lover.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Spike crossed his arms.
“It is a bad thing,” Garble reminded him. “It’s totally embarrassing, living with these wimpy ponies,” he flicked a claw at Fluttershy, who flinched.
“Yet, they’re the ones who saved your life,” Spike quietly added, now looking ever so smug. Garble scowled.
“Speaking of, why would you?”
“Yeah, Twilight, why did we?”
“Because he needed help, Spike.” A second pony entered the room. This one was purple with both wings and a horn. Garble had never seen a pony like that, but she looked vaguely familiar.
“I know you. You’re that wimp who tried to take on Clump, Pierce and I.” Twilight narrowed her eyes.
“I’m Twilight Sparkle,” she coldly informed. “I’m the one who brought you back here. I saw the smoke from the fire, and investigated the cause myself. I found you in the rubble, barely alive. Fluttershy here patched you up. You’re very lucky, you know. You owe her your life.”
“I don’t owe nobody!” Garble snapped. “Saving me was your mistake.”
“Mistake?” Fluttershy was taken aback. The typically quiet mare stepped forth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” the red reptile flashed his teeth in a snarl, “that whatever happens next is your own fault.” The roar that escaped his maw could be mistaken for thunder.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Fluttershy squealed in terror as the shadow lunged, hooves skittering out from under her in a failed attempt to flee.
“FLUTTERSHY!” Spike leapt to her defense, his tiny body doing little to shield her far larger frame. The hatchling saw Garble’s gleaming pearly whites coming down on them. Sure he’d be skewered, Spike shielded his face and braced for impact. Had his eyes been open, he would have seen a bright flash of pink light lash out at the attacker.
“RAAAAAAAAAaaaaaahh,” Garble collapsed to the floor, and Spike managed to push him midair so that the teen wouldn’t crush Fluttershy or himself.
“Sedation spell,” Twilight curtly explained.
“Oooh.” Fluttershy promptly fainted, joining the unconscious dragon on the floor. Spike crossly raised an eyebrow at Twilight.
“Still think this was a good idea?”
“Nnnn... Wha... What happ- What in the-?!” Garble’s howls of frustration echoed through the crystal palace as he struggled against his binds. He was laying on a gurney far less comfortable than the couch, and this time he had been shackled to the metal, evidently fireproof frame. The ruckus instantly summoned Twilight, though her frantic hoofsteps were drowned out by the dragon’s clamor.
“Stop fussing! You’ll aggravate your injuries. I just got you stabilized,” she irritably snapped, holding him down with her magic.
“YOU!” Garble seethed. Though he could no longer move, his eyes burned as hot as his fire would have. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“I saved you... again.” Twilight expectantly raised an eyebrow, possibly in hopes of a ‘thank you.’ But perhaps it was too much to ask of this dragon, because he continued to stare at her just as expectantly, though maybe with an extra spark of anger in his eyes. She took a patient breath before furthering her explanation. “Thanks to your little stunt back at Fluttershy’s cottage, she’s refused to so much as look at you. She was the one pony who had a clue on how to help you.”
“I don’t WANT help from you ponies,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Twilight ignored him and continued.
“Spike was reluctant to help too. Well, he was opposed from the beginning, but I didn’t give him a choice. I studied his body structure to give me a better idea on how you work. From there I was able to repair most of the damage... I think. You suffered a concussion when you crashed. I used surgical glue on your torn wing membrane, (though I’m still not sure how well it will hold up); you broke the other wing, which I set as best I could. You fractured your right forearm, broke a rib and cracked three others, and don’t even get me started on that gash.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” he cynically glowered.
“Long story short, you’re on the road to recovery. But you have to stay still and rest for several weeks.”
“Ha! Several weeks? You can’t really expect me to stay here with you namby-pamby ponies for another day, let alone several weeks!” he animatedly exclaimed. Twilight’s expression, however, remained neutral.
“That is exactly what I expect,” she bluntly yet sternly replied, gaze steady.
“Hate to break it to you, sparkles, but it’s not happening.”
“Hate to break it to you, Garble, but you don’t have a choice,” she shot back, perfectly matching his sass. “I can’t in good conscience let you leave in this condition. You’re staying, and that’s that. Whether I keep you sedated the entire time or not is your choice.”
“You can’t do that! That’s called kidnapping!”
“Garble, even if I turned you loose, where would you go? The dragon flock has already migrated south. There’s no one left in the craters.”
“They... left?” Garble’s eyes contracted, the weight of her words soaking in. That’s right... he’d gone missing the night before they were supposed to leave. How long ago had that been? One day? Two? They couldn’t possibly be more than two days ahead of him, could they?
“How long?” The words came out in a hoarse, raspy voice. It was such a drastic change from his usual loud, authoritive mannerism that Twilight softened ever so slightly and dropped her magical hold on the dragon.
“Six days and roughly three hours since I found you in the forest. I don’t know how long you were out before then, though.”
“A week?” Twilight could barely make out the words. “They’ve been gone for a week?”
“Yes, Garble.” Thinking it safe, the alicorn began to step farther into the room. Rather than calming him, however, she seemed to have set him off.
“You’re... YOU’RE LYING!” He again began to thrash and tug against the restraints, wildly spewing small puffs of flame.
“Garble, calm down,” she again resorted to holding him down to keep him from hurting himself. She could still feel him furiously flexing his muscles, fighting her hold. At this rate, he’d reopen his wounds even within her aura’s grasp.
“Alright,” Twilight reluctantly sighed, horn sparkling with magic. “Goodnight, Garble. Let’s see how you’re doing in the morning.”
“NOOooo,” his protests were promptly replaced by the sound of snoring. Twilight sighed again, cast him one last pitiful glance, and stepped out of the room.
“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Spike’s voice piped up as she shut the door.
“He’s in distress, Spike. Imagine if your whole family just left without you one day.”
“Pfft. I know you wouldn’t do that, Twilight,” Spike fell into step beside the unicorn as she started slowly down the hall.
“I said imagine, Spike,” she repeated a bit too harshly, stopping just long enough to glare at him. Her abrupt change of attitude took Spike by surprise. He fell silent and waited for her to continue. She softened and resumed their stroll. “Put yourself in his horseshoes- erm, claws?” She shook her head and returned to the matter at hoof. “His entire world just got turned upside down. He’s a dragon- by instinct, his coping mechanism is probably to yell at the problem, which in this case, he views as me. But fighting me isn’t going to help him now- in fact, it will only make him worse. We’re going to have to override his natural instincts, as it were. He might not be migrating with the flock, but we need to take Garble on a mental journey to convince him that ponies aren’t so bad, and believe me, that's going to be quite the journey.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Spike snorted.
“I think you might just be the best one for the job,” Twilight continued, briefly glancing down to catch his reaction.
“Wait, WHAT?” This time, Spike was the one to stop in his tracks. “No way, Twilight! You know what happened last time!”
“Last time was different,” the alicorn gently reminded. “Last time, he was under the impression that you wanted to join his dragon gang, not the other way around. He was backed up by his friends at the time. He felt tough and empowered. But now he’s alone- they left him. Spike, he needs a friend now more than ever. Please, I need your help with this. Garble needs your help.”
“But why me? Why don’t you call her in?” Twilight’s eyes filled with pain.
“I’ve considered it, Spike. But Garble’s already so torn up physically and emotionally that I’m just not sure how he’ll take it. Besides, she’s moved on, too. It took her a long time to move past Garble, and she’s finally happy where she is. I don’t want to blow it for either of them. Spike, you’re our best bet.”
Twilight had a way of guilting Spike into doing these sorts of things. He gazed into her pleading eyes, nose wrinkling more and more as he concentrated on resisting her plea. As always, he failed.
“GAH! Fine! I’ll do it! Are you happy now?” He folded his arms and turned around so he could fume without her seeing.
“Oh, Spike, I knew I could count on you!” Twilight gleefully squeezed him. Spike wobbled in her grasp as she picked him up off the floor, but quickly steadied himself. A small smile finally tickled his cheek as he returned the embrace. He could never say no to Twilight.
She eventually set him back down, and happily trotted off. Spike lingered a moment longer, mulling over his latest assignment. ‘Oh, Celestia,’ he thought, ‘what have I gotten myself into?’
Garble woke earlier than Twilight had predicted, just before dawn. But he wasn’t fighting the restraints, now. He had no strength left for that. Her words kept replaying over and over in his head, and each cycle seemed to drain a little more life out of him. “The flock is gone. They left. The flock is gone. They left.”
He tried to roll over, to curl up into a ball of self-pity, but found that the restraints didn’t allow him to do so. He quietly snarled in irritation and weakly pulled against them, but to no avail. He quickly gave up, his strength still waning. “The flock is gone. They left. The flock is gone. They left.”
There was nothing to look at in this bare crystal room, nothing to keep his mind off the matters at claw. So he thought of his gang. What were they doing right now? ‘Probably settling into the new nesting grounds,’ he thought. He wondered if they missed him. Did they even care that he was gone? He imagined that Fizzle wouldn’t. In fact, he had probably taken charge of the gang the minute he went missing. Vex would have simply accepted the new headship and moved on. Clump might wonder what had happened, but he was more of a follower than a leader. Unless anyone else had suggested looking for him, Clump probably wouldn’t have put up much of a fight, either. Soot... well, Soot’s philosophy was “no dragon left behind,” but he was a bit soft in enforcing this. Pierce was really the only one Garble could think of that might care enough to look for him. But if none of the others did... would Pierce really bother to stick around?
It was a flimsy hope. Fizzle would have convinced them all to leave with him as their new leader. They had abandoned him, and that was fact. Even if he survived the season without them, how could he ever show his face in the dragon craters again? How could he admit that he had been saved by the ponies? That he allowed them to take care of him? He’d go soft again- heck, he was already going soft!
Garble never cried. He was a dragon. Dragons were incapable of tears. So what was this wet salty stuff trickling from his eyes?
At least there was no one to see him in this state. Especially the ponies. He must be stooping down to their pitiful level by now. Gosh, Garble hated the ponies. He hated them with every fiber of his being. But now he just simply didn’t care. He lacked the will to care.
“You’re up.” The crystal door squeaked open, and the tiny, timid form of Spike slid through. As soon as Garble saw him, his eyes widened with horror, and he pressed his head back as far as it would go against the gurney in hopes that the shrimp wouldn’t see him crying. He couldn’t even reach up to wipe his eyes. This hope, too, was in vain. Spike’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and his mouth hung agape.
“Are you...?”
“What?” Garble snapped with the same level of ferocity that Spike remembered. But he made the mistake of glaring at Spike square in the eye, his tear-stained cheeks completely visible. Spike uncertainly looked him over. Garble huffed, and leaned back again. “Yeah, I’m crying. Does that make you happy, shrimp? To see the big bad dragon cry?”
“No,” Spike hesitantly answered. “I thought it would, but... no.” He quietly shuffled over to the chair beside of Garble’s gurney. The older dragon refused to look at him, in fact straining so that he could turn as far away from the hatchling as his current situation would allow. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence passed between the two before Spike dared to speak again. “Why were you crying?”
“What’s it to you?” Garble snapped in reply.
“Because I wanna help,” Spike earnestly replied. Garble snorted with cynical, sarcastic laughter.
“I forgot what it was like... how soft ponies made you.”
“Yeah? Well, I’d much rather be soft than cold and unmovable!” Spike frowned, brow furrowed in both confusion and anger.
“Why?” Garble finally flipped over to face him. “If you shut them all out, ponies can’t hurt you like-” His eyes widened again as he realized he had said too much, and he simply lay back in silence.
“Like Sunset,” Spike finished. He expected Garble to lash out again, to hiss and spit and throw a fit over the mere mention of the name. Instead, his eyes filled with pain, and he closed them again before more liquid could leak out. His Adam’s apple wavered, obviously trying to choke down the sobs.
“Look,” Spike sighed, “I don’t know exactly what happened between you two. I know that when you were little, you were assigned to be her dragon assistant at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, and I know she hurt you. She hurt everyone, actually, not just you. But she’s changed since then. She’s not like that anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter what she’s like now!” Garble shouted, fury reentering his eyes. “What’s done is done, and there’s no changing it! She made her choice and... and it wasn’t me.” He bit back another flood, refusing to let the hatchling see him cry again.
“You say you’re not soft, but it sounds like she hurt you regardless,” Spike attempted to set a consoling claw on his arm.
“DON’T touch me, shrimp!” Garble tried and failed to pull away, but Spike jumped back anyway. “Sunset Shimmer turned me into who I am! Whatever happened after she left was her own fault!”
“I think you know that’s not true,” Spike quietly suggested. “Is that why you’re so angry? Because you actually blame yourself instead of her?” Garble blankly stared at him, and barely registered that moisture was again seeping into his eyes. Was that it?
“N-No,” Garble answered, his wavering voice not at all convincing.
“Did you shut everyone out because you thought it'd help you to claw your way to the top, or because you were afraid that someone might hurt you again?”
“Get outta here, shrimp,” Garble’s raspy, mechanical voice ordered.
“You act tough, but deep down I think you still care. I think part of you wants another try with Sunset.”
“But you can’t change the past, now can you?!” Garble was yelling again, tears openly dripping.
“No, but you could forgive her.”
“Ha!” he sniffled, giving off something between a throaty chuckle and a rumbly growl as he turned to glare up at the ceiling.
“I’m serious, Garble,” Spike insisted. “It’s never easy, but I think you’d both feel better if you just let it go.”
“HOW CAN I JUST LET IT GO? SHE ABANDONED ME! SHE KICKED ME!” It was hard to imagine the big, tough Garble getting so worked up over a little kick, but Spike reasoned that at a young age it must have proved traumatizing for him.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. “But she is too. Sunset tried to make things right before, didn’t she?” She had, in fact. Garble recalled the letter of apology she sent him just before Sunset herself appeared at the dragon craters. Unsurprisingly, he had mercilessly chased her away with an extremely harsh verbal thrashing.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose Twilight,” Spike went on, shaking his head, “so I can’t honestly say that I know what you’re going through. But I can tell you what I’d do in your place, and that’s to forgive her and move on. I think you’d both feel a whole lot better if you did.”
Garble made no further comment. Spike waited patiently for about five more minutes awaiting a response, but as the dragon continued to stare up at the ceiling, Spike finally realized that Garble was done.
“Okay, then.” Spike slid out of his chair and quietly exited. He hesitated in the doorway. “Call if you need anything.”
‘What I need is my life back,’ Garble bitterly thought.
‘Which one?’ a small voice replied. ‘The domestic life with Sunset, or leading the gang?’ Garble paused.
‘Either.’
Spike tiptoed into the castle’s library, checking and double checking to make sure Twilight wasn’t in here. He didn’t spot her right off the bat, but this was a rather large room, so he slunk farther in to do a quick inspection. He scrutinized every isle, every shelf in the place, and still found no sign of Twilight.
“Good,” he muttered to himself, returning to the back of the library where Twilight kept it.
“It” was the contraption she had built some time ago to reactivate the mirror portal to the human world whenever she pleased. She had never deconstructed it, lest she require an immediate trip across, but she did remove the book used to power it after each use. This journal was kept in a secret location, which Spike knew about of course. He was the one that usually wound up fetching it, after all.
Spike clambered up the ladder to the top of the shelf behind the machine. “Let’s see... Second row from the top... S... S... S... Ah! Starswirl’s Achievements!” Spike plucked the title from the shelf. This was the book where Twilight originally found information about The Sirens and their defeat by the ancient magician, so it proved fitting that she would hide Sunset’s journal behind it. Spike reached back and fumbled for a bit before grasping the spine. He pulled it free and dusted it off, though it was relatively clean. Twilight checked it quite often to write to Sunset and wait for a reply.
Spike carefully clambered down the ladder before adjusting it to lean solidly against the machine. Twilight had no problem levitating the book into place, but at his stature and with no magic, Spike had to insert it the old fashioned way. He carefully inched the book closer to its slot, praying that he wouldn’t be shocked by the sudden spark of magic.
“GAH!” he threw it in when the book began to glow, luckily tossing it right where it needed to go. He expertly slid down the ladder and skedaddled as the magic began filtering through the wires and rollers and other assorted pumps. With a bright flash of light, the magic reached the portal and completed the circuit. Spike replaced the ladder, and cast one last glance back at the door to make sure the magical surge hadn’t attracted Twilight. The door remained shut. Spike took one last deep breath, prepared himself, and leapt through the portal.
“Sunset! Hey, watch your step! Sunset! Coming through! SUNSET!”
“Huh?” the girl hesitated before stepping into her English classroom, balancing a stack of books in one arm while holding the door half open with the other. She scanned the hallway for anyone that looked like they might be trying to attract her attention, and stepped aside for another student to enter the room.
“Hey, Sunset! Down here!” Sunset’s eyes roved down to her shoes, where she finally found a familiar purple puppy.
“Spike?!” she beamed, and hastily crouched down to gave him a scratch behind the ear in greeting. “What’re you doing here? Where’s Twilight? Is everyone okay back in Equestria?” her smile faltered.
“Actually... no,” Spike confessed. “And Twilight doesn’t know I’m here.” Sunset frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Spike almost guiltily met her gaze.
“It’s Garble.” She paled, and her expression blanked. “He’s hurt, bad. Twilight’s got him physically patched up, but emotionally he’s not doing so good. The flock migrated south without him, which was bad enough, but now he has to let the ponies help him... you can guess how well that’s working out.” Sunset’s expression was still deadpan, and her gaze distant. The puppy winced. Twilight had been right; bringing her into this was a bad idea. Spike hung his head.
“I thought that you should know, but-”
“Take me.”
“Huh?” Spike looked up again. Within moments, Sunset’s impassive appearance had changed to that of determination and hope.
“Take me to see him,” she repeated. “Please.”
Hoofsteps clopped at the entrance to the crystal room, and the heavy door creaked open. Garble halfheartedly looked up to see his visitor. Upon identifying her, however, his body turned rigid and his blood ran cold. The two stared at each other for a moment before he slowly lay back.
“Shoulda known Spike’d call you in after our little heart-to-heart,” Garble mumbled, no expression in his voice. “What’d he tell ya? Because I bet he made it sound way gushier than what actually happened.” Sunset just slowly shook her head.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” she assured, cautiously entering the room. “Just that you were hurt, that the flock left... I’m so sorry, Garble.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said last time.”
“I meant it then and I mean it now,” she insisted, the force in her voice drawing Garble’s gaze. Unlike the tough dragon, she didn’t try to hide her emotions. Tears dribbled down her face as she met his eyes. “I truly am sorry. For everything... what I said, what I did...” her voice grew ever softer, “what I turned you into.”
“Why?” his nose unwillingly contorted into a snarl. “When you abandoned me, you made me grow stronger- strong enough to make it in a wild dragon flock, strong enough to lead my own gang... in a way, I should almost be thanking you.”
“I made you shut everything out. I made you cold, unable to feel,” she bit her lip, a steady trickle now running down her cheek as she sobbed.
“It was probably that one last sock that did me in,” he dryly jibed, unfazed by her tears. “Those human boots pack a real punch.”
“I’m so, so sorry. I never imagined...” She collapsed to the floor, hair covering her face and slightly muffling her wails. “I’m so sorry, Garble,” she choked again. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness... please, I just need you to know I’m sorry. That I regret everything.”
“I forgot how snively ponies could be,” he snorted. “Are you really not above coming back over and over to grovel at my claws?”
“No,” Sunset softly wept, gently flipping her hair out of her face. “Because I let myself feel again. And now all I feel is remorse. It haunts me every day, what I did to you and Celestia and all my friends here and in the human world... I know I did wrong, but I’m trying to do right now. I’m trying... I’m trying...” She chanted that phrase over and over as though if she said it enough times, it would make everything okay. She looked so pitiful, Garble almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“How do you like the human world?” Garble abruptly asked, if just to stop her horrid bawling. Sunset did stop crying long enough to look him over. She obviously caught on, because she obliged. She sniffled once more and moved over to the chair beside him, though he still insisted on staring at the ceiling rather than his guest.
“I’m still getting settled.”
“Really? Ten years and you’re still getting settled?”
“Well... it’s been almost a year ago since the... incident. Did Twilight tell you what happened?”
“No,” he plainly answered.
“Well,” Sunset blushed as the painfully embarrassing memory resurfaced. “When the portal reopened, I came back to Equestria to steal Princess Twilight’s crown. It contained Equestrian Magic, so bringing it to a world without magic would have made me all-powerful.”
“Sounds nice,” Garble commented, expression completely unreadable.
“No, not nice,” Sunset corrected. “I made everyone miserable... even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was miserable. I didn’t have any friends, any family... I was alone.”
“Sounds like how you left me,” Garble huffed. “Except I made a new home for myself, found new friends.”
“Friends that abandon you?” Garble stiffened, and silently clenched his fists. “We’re more alike than you know, Garble.” He turned away so she wouldn’t see his damp eyes. “Look at me.” He refused, and Sunset didn’t push him. Instead, she heaved a heavy sigh, and gently set her head down on his shoulder. That got him to whip around of his own free will.
“W-What’re you-?! Get off me!” She paid him no mind, and remained where she was, if just adjusting to a slightly more comfortable angle. Garble growled, but unable to do anything about it, remained still and tried to ignore her. She was pressed so close, Garble wondered if she could hear his pounding heart. Garble highly doubted this was a romantic cuddle, but instead more of a last, desperate attempt to remind him of the friendship they used to share. The worst part was, it was working.
Memories of his prior life flashed in his mind; him fetching stacks of books for Sunset, and occasionally receiving a hug of thanks for his efforts. He remembered the surprise party she threw for him on their one year anniversary of being paired as student and assistant. He remembered how hard it was to convince her to give the books a rest, but how much fun they would have in the park when he did. Before she had let her research consume her, Sunset had been his very closest friend.
“If I wasn’t chained to this gurney, I’d shred you,” Garble threatened with a wavering, teary voice. He was straining the other way again to conceal his wet, dripping eyes, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. His chest heaved with sobs, and his breathing was laced with sniffles. She finally lifted her head, glumly smiling back.
“I don’t think you would,” she shook her head. She eyed the restraints. “In fact, I know you wouldn’t.” Her pale blue aura fiddled with the straps to unfasten them. He watched her from beneath furrowed brows, yanking his wrists free but never breaking her gaze. He painfully sat up (with Sunset’s help) and rubbed the spots where the magically fireproofed leather had bit into his scales. An array of emotions flashed across his eyes as he stared the unicorn down: fear, pain, anger, joy, even hope.
Sunset backed up a few steps should he want to try and stand, but made no further action. She had come this far... she didn’t want to overstep her bounds and ruin all their progress now. Whatever happened next would have to come from him. But Garble just sat and stared for an agonizing couple of minutes. His eyes had reflected almost nothing but hate and anger for a while now, and Sunset was truly becoming worried that he might strike her. Then the dragon closed his eyes, and sagged forward.
Sunset didn’t think quickly enough to catch him before he fell of the gurney, but he partially caught himself by leaning on her shoulder. She steadied her friend and tried to get him balanced on his own two feet, but he wouldn’t budge. He had suctioned himself to her side in a tight hug.
“I missed you,” he gradually managed. They had both done their fair share of crying that day, and neither were about to stop there.
“I missed you, too,” she choked, squeezing him back.
He had been away far too long, Garble decided. He had spent most of his life migrating from place to place and traveling the world, but now, Garble knew, his journey had reached its end. It felt good to be home.