//------------------------------//
// Save Your Sky for Me - Part I 
// Story: A Bluebird's Song 
// by Ardensfax 
//------------------------------//


A Bluebird’s Song

~~~
Doubt truth to be a liar
But never doubt I love
~~~

Save Your Sky For Me – Part One

She seemed contented; that was the strangest thing.

Of course, there had been tears. Tears of joy, of sadness, of pain. Once the team of utterly bemused doctors had ensured that Dash was in a stable condition, the two mares had held one another in a close, gentle embrace for the best part of an hour, Twilight relishing the miraculous warmth, savouring every beat of her love’s heart. 

Naturally, none of the doctors had asked too many questions about the pegasus’s revival, apparently preferring instead to do their job of tending to the living, rather than querying the living’s status as such.

It had, without a doubt, been a difficult week. The pegasus was by no means healed; since her awakening she had had undergone two minor operations, and her wide range of medications often left her drowsy and only semi-coherent. On the third day, the lacerations down her left side had picked up an infection which had thrust the mare into a state of delirium, but Twilight found herself blessing the times of fever for the way that they relieved the pegasus’s pain. She had sat at her love’s bedside for hours on end, dabbing the cold sweat from the prone mare’s brow, and whispering reassurances with no idea if Dash could hear her.

Even after three hideously long days of salves and ointments and medical spell-work had broken the infection’s hold, there were times when Dash’s stoic outlook buckled, when the pain or immobility began to eat away at her mind, but Twilight was always there beside her, with her kind words and her tender, anaesthetic kisses.

She had told Dash everything. In reality, there had never been any question of keeping her in the dark. Twilight had not intended to tell her the full story immediately; she had had a plan to wait until the pegasus had recovered her strength, to give her the truth as gently as possible, but she had not been able to help herself. As soon as they had been alone together, she had told her everything; told her of her coma, her death, of her mother’s history and sacrifice. 

The bedridden pony had listened in silence, her eyes widening from time to time, either in surprise or understanding. In truth, Twilight had been terrified. She had half expected the news of her mother’s death to send the pegasus spiraling back down into depression again, but that had not been the case. Once the unicorn had finished her story, Dash had simply requested that she might be given some time to think about what had happened; to try and reconcile the new facts in her head.

Twilight knew that she wanted to focus on her recovery, rather than allowing the conflicting grief and relief to bury her. She respected that, and kept her silence. 

From that point onwards, Dash had not mentioned her mother again. The week had not been easy for either of them, but most of the time the pegasus seemed in remarkably high spirits, almost unconscious of her own contentment. The others had returned, reluctantly, to Ponyville. Somehow, as with even the strangest times, a routine of life had formed.

The biggest fear for both of them was Dash’s wings. The doctor had told them that he was, in truth, not optimistic. The blood flow to the appendages was severely damaged, and whilst amputation had been ruled out to the enormous relief of both mares, the necessity to fuse or pin the wing-bones was all too likely. The doctor had talked of Dash’s options for what had seemed like hours, throwing around words like ‘joint replacement’ and ‘necrosis’, painting with an expert’s eye a picture of the worst case scenario. Twilight tried to keep herself from worrying, but each night was spent in fear, and each slow dawn came with a dull, cold expectation that more bad news may be around the corner. 

Then, one week after her awakening, the news came that the bruising and lacerations had healed to the point where Dash could leave her bed, albeit in a wheelchair that Twilight volunteered to push. The lacerations on her side and hind legs were still deep and stitched closed, and any attempt to bear weight on the injured muscles would likely end in failure. The doctors were wary of allowing even this limited degree of movement, but the pegasus’s enthusiasm to once again be at least semi-mobile eventually won over their doubts.

Although, as Twilight had discovered through long experience, things were rarely simple when Dash was involved. 


*


“Are you holding up okay?”

It was Saturday evening, and the sun had begun to set as Luna took up her station for the night. In Ponyville, Fluttershy’s date was in full swing. 

The scene in Canterlot Hospital, however, was a somewhat different one. The two mares were making their first, nervous foray into the tiled hospital corridor, the wheelchair-bound Dash eyeing the relatively open space with an expression of nervous excitement. 

After a few misguided attempts to use her hooves to propel the wheelchair, Twilight had abandoned the fiddly, cumbersome handles, and instead walked alongside the still-weakened pegasus, pushing the chair along with her magic. To her relief, the long-term effects of her magical overexertion in the Everfree were beginning to wear off, and she no longer felt that horrible burning sensation in her forehead when she cast her spells.

Dash shifted in the chair, grunting a little in discomfort. Her wings were still in solid plaster casts, strapped up so that they were held out straight at her sides. “I’m fine, Twi’,” she replied, stoically. “It’s just good to get out of that room, to tell ya the truth.”

Twilight nodded. “I can imagine.” 

They moved down the corridor in silence for a few more moments, and Twilight caught herself gazing at the pegasus, her expression one of quiet amazement. In truth, she had found herself doing that a lot recently. She still could not quite believe that Dash was here, alive and awake. They had made it. They had both made it.

Focus! You don’t want to go running into somepony.

She shook her head, forcing herself to look where they were going. “Where do you want to go?” she asked, knowing that their choices for destinations within the hospital were somewhat restricted.

Dash thought for a moment, knowing that they had to stay at least on hospital grounds, in case something were to go suddenly wrong. “The roof,” she said, finally. “I’d… I’d like to be able to breathe properly again.” 

“I’ll try,” Twilight replied, knowing that the chance to look down from the mountainside over the countryside of Equestria would offer at least a hint of the height and freedom the pegasus craved. “Getting up there with a wheelchair might be tricky, though.”

“I guess.” Dash nodded, gesturing to a pair of gunmetal grey doors to their left. “Try one of the elevators, we might find a fire escape or something.” The slight strain in her voice was evident, betraying just how much she wanted to taste the outdoor air again. Neither of them knew how long it would be before she was discharged entirely, and whilst Twilight suspected that there may, in truth, be no way up to the roof, she was more than willing to try.

She jabbed at the call button, and the pair of them entered the elevator. It was an aging contraption, and rattled grudgingly to life, the machinery grinding and hissing as it dragged them sluggishly upwards through the building towards the top floor.

“Twi’…” Dash said, quietly.

Twilight turned to her. “What is it?”

“I… I’ve been thinking about my mom… about what she did to me. About what she did for me.” She sighed. This was the first time she had spoken of her mother for the best part of a week, and Twilight leaned closer with interest and apprehension. “She gave me an answer,” Dash continued. “It was so many years too late, but she finally gave me an answer to the question I’ve been asking my entire life. She… she cared. In the end, at least. It’s made me happy, I can’t deny that. Apart from you, it’s what’s been keeping me going this last week.”

Her eyes were damp, and she held out a hoof, which Twilight grasped comfortingly between her own, leaning down to nuzzle the mare’s cheek. “Do you think you can forgive her?” Twilight murmured.

Dash was silent for a few seconds, her expression thoughtful and a little pained. “No,” she said, eventually, her voice barely audible over the grinding machinery. “No, I don’t think I can.”

At that moment, the elevator ground to a halt with a thump, the engines falling silent as they reached the top floor. The doors swung open, revealing two doctors waiting at the doors. Twilight fell silent, her response dying on her lips, and she looked sideways at Dash as she pushed her out of the elevator into the sparsely-populated corridor. The pegasus nodded minutely, as if to say that the discussion could wait until they were alone.

Taking the wheelchair in her magical grip once again, Twilight pushed out into the corridor, looking around for some kind of fire escape or other means of access to the roof. This floor of the hospital had obviously been built more recently, the walls oozing a clinical, white modernity. The falling evening sun streamed in through the closed windows; tantalizing. 

For a few minutes, they walked on in silence, looking around to no avail until Twilight was on the verge of giving up. Then, Dash pointed to their left, her eyes widening. “Twi’, look.” Twilight’s eyes followed the pointing hoof, and alighted upon a small door, set beside a storage cupboard. A small brass sign beside it read: Staff only – Emergency rooftop access.

Twilight looked up and down the length of the corridor, eyeing the other occupants in mild irritation, waiting for the two of them to be on their own.

Dash looked up at her, her expression a little guilty that Twilight was chancing getting in trouble with the hospital’s staff on her behalf. “Do you wanna risk it?”

The unicorn raised one eyebrow, smiling a little. “Obviously.”

Slowly, the corridor’s occupants filtered away into one room or another, leaving nopony but the two mares, and an elderly couple who seemed to be waiting for something, and were apparently too distracted by reading the signs tacked up a notice-board to pay them any heed.

With a squeak of the wheels, Twilight pushed the chair briskly across the chequerboard-tiled corridor, magically pulled the door ajar, and the pair of mares darted inside.

Twilight’s heart sank.

Stairs. A short flight of functional metal steps rose up the walls of the red-brick stairwell, leading to a fire door at the summit which obviously led to the roof. Eight steps in all, but it might as well have been a mountain for all the chance they had of getting the pegasus up to the top. The sensation of falling at the last hurdle was utterly infuriating, although Twilight was berating herself for not expecting something so obvious. What had she expected? A lift? A winch? There was no way she could traverse the steps with the wheelchair, no matter how hard they tried.

I don’t have the strength to lift her with my magic yet, she thought, helplessly. There’s nothing I can do.

She turned to Dash, apologetically clicking the chair’s brake into place. “I… I’m sorry, Rainbow. Maybe we can find another-”

The pegasus held up a hoof, determinedly. “It’s okay, Twi’. I thought this was gonna happen.”

Twilight was somewhat confused. “Well then, why…?”

Dash gritted her teeth. “Because this is how I make progress. I knew if I told you, you’d never have brought me up here, but this is how I’ve always made progress. I find something I wanna achieve; something that’s just out of reach.” She paused for a moment, appraising the situation. “Then, I go and get it.”

Without further ado, the pegasus leaned gingerly forwards out of the chair, and planted her rear hooves on the concrete floor.

Twilight stepped forwards immediately, her eyes fearful. “Rainbow! Your stitches! They told you not to walk yet.”

“They told me to walk when I felt ready,” Dash corrected her, wincing in pain as she shuffled forwards, and began applying weight to her hind legs. “If it means getting some fresh air; if it means bein’ able to take a few steps outside of this hospital, then I sure as hay feel ready.”

Before Twilight could argue any further, she tipped herself forwards, and stood unsteadily on her own four hooves. She let out a low groan, and her knees shook with the combination of effort and pain. For a horrible moment, Twilight thought her legs were going to buckle under her, but somehow she remained standing, her teeth clenched, sweat pooling on her brow, an expression of consternation on her face that even so simple an action as standing up was almost beyond her capacity. 

Twilight rushed forwards to help support the pegasus, looping her forelegs under the mare’s neck and belly. Dash leaned into her gratefully, closing her eyes and breathing hard. “Thanks, Twi’. That was always gonna be the hardest part,” she panted, her voice trembling and pained. “Thought I might as well get it over with quickly.”

“You silly pony,” Twilight murmured reproachfully, stroking Dash’s perspiration-coated neck with her foreleg. She was too pleased at the expression of relief on the pegasus’s face to be truly annoyed, however. She could see how much regaining even this small amount of mobility meant to her. “You’re lucky you didn’t burst your stitches.”

“I’ve always taken risks, and this isn’t gonna stop me,” replied Dash, her voice still unsteady but determined. “Sunset can hurt me all they want, but if they stop me from takin’ risks, they’ve won.” She paused for a moment. “You know what? I don’t even care about that. This isn’t about Sunset, or fresh air, or any of it. I wanna prove to myself that I can do this. I made a promise a long time ago, and I couldn’t keep it at the Cloudiseum. I couldn’t see what shoulda been obvious, and I fell because of that, but now… I’m gonna keep my promise. I’m gonna prove myself right.” 

Gingerly, still leaning against Twilight for support, she took a few tentative steps towards the staircase. Each movement of her hind legs made her wince, and the dead weight of her plaster-embalmed wings was not helping, but she made her steady, dogged progress to the foot of the stairs.

She turned her head delightedly to Twilight. The pain in her eyes was obvious, but still she grinned. “See that?”

The unicorn nodded. Her expression was tinged with worry and sympathy, but she returned the smile, more pleased than fearful. “I did,” she whispered. She leaned in to nuzzle the pegasus’s jaw and cheek. Their muzzles met, their lips and noses brushing together. In a moment of excitement, Dash pushed forwards with a sigh, turning the light, brushing contact into a true kiss.

The setting was utterly unromantic; a dimly-lit stairwell, grimy and ill-maintained from lack of use, but it did not matter. Twilight pressed back against her lover’s lips, sharing in the joy of a pony who had just found her hooves again. This was utterly unlike the tender kisses they had shared thus far during Dash’s recovery, kisses of reassurance or sympathy. This was a kiss of fire; the kind they had so often had before the disastrous record attempt, and the beautiful sense of familiarity only served to add to the connection’s intensity. The taste was exactly as Twilight remembered, as their tongues shared a caressing, enthusiastic reunion.

They broke apart after a fashion, Twilight’s forehoof stroking through over Dash’s mane, whilst still supporting her and helping her stand upright. Thanks to their awkward position, they could not truly embrace, but instead entwined their necks together, holding each other close in a traditional pony-hug.

“Celestia, I’ve missed that,” panted Dash, her hot breath blooming against Twilight’s ear.

“I could tell,” Twilight murmured, pressing herself tighter against the pegasus’s warm neck.

Eventually, when the unicorn pulled back, Dash eyed the stairs before her with a look of resigned determination. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the unicorn asked, in a voice of warning.

Dash gulped, but nodded. “Just… keep a hold on me, Twi’,” she murmured. 

“Always.”

With that, the pegasus shook her head to dispel the momentary surge of nerves, and planted her hooves determinedly on the bottom step. 

The first three stairs were relatively easy, eliciting small winces from the injured mare. The lavender unicorn walked beside Dash, her forelegs wrapped around the pegasus, who leaned on her for support. At the fourth step, she let out a low groan of pain, as her lacerated muscles stretched and complained. Twilight forced back tears at the sound.

She doesn’t deserve this. Why did this have to happen?

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Twilight exclaimed in a panic.

“There’s no point going back now. Going down’s as bad as climbing. I can do this.”

Not wanting to break stride, Dash took the fifth and sixth steps rapidly, one after the other, before freezing on the sixth with a cry, gritting her teeth to bite back the sound. She snorted, lowering her head and pushing onwards, taking the seventh in absolute silence, her legs shaking horribly.

Oh Celestia, why her?

On the eighth, her strength finally failed her. Her right hind leg gave out, and she began to topple backwards down the stairs with a horrified gasp of shock.

Twilight, however, was ready for her. The pegasus found herself enveloped in a cushioning purple aura, which pushed her gently back into line, up and over the final step. The unicorn may not have regained her powers enough to carry the mare, but she could at least offer a helping hand.

Dash stood on the top step, gasping and shaking, but hugely relieved, and euphoric beyond even her normal thrill of victory. For a moment, she did not know why she felt so elated, but then it struck her. She remembered what she had promised herself months ago, promised herself on the day before Twilight had first kissed her.

I kept my promise. Maybe that wasn’t sensible, but I’ve proven that I don’t need revenge or fear to make me a winner. I didn’t do it to prove anypony wrong. 

I did it, Fluttershy. I did what you asked, all that time ago. I proved myself right.

Not on your own, you didn’t.

She turned to Twilight, a new strength welling up in her limbs. “Thanks for the help, Twi’.”

The unicorn seemed to understand that the words meant far more than the mere physical assistance she had offered, and she leaned in to kiss the pegasus lightly on the lips.

“I wish you wouldn’t do things like that,” she murmured, but was unable to resist leaning in for another kiss. “Actually,” she blushed, disengaging her lips, “I guess I’m lying. I can’t bring myself to wish you wouldn’t, because it’s so… you.”

Dash blushed too, and decided that it was her turn to take the initiative, by leaning forwards and pressing her lips tightly to Twilight’s, the sudden force eliciting a delighted little muffled moan from the unicorn.

You need her so much.

I’ll always need her. But that’s not why I love her.

Are you sure about that?

For once in her life, she could quell the nagging voice of self-doubt without any difficulty. Of course I’m sure. I need her because I love her, not the other way around.

Breaking the kiss, she took Twilight’s hoof, feeling her stride beginning to grow more confident, overcoming the pain, and together they walked slowly out onto the rooftop.

The air. 

The air was beautiful. It tasted of freedom and altitude, laced with the heady thinness of the mountain’s peak. The falling sun dazzled them, painting the mares with shifting liquid amber. She limped to the edge, with Twilight gently supporting her. The patchwork countryside spread out far below them, golden in the evening light. Cloudsdale hung like a diamond on the horizon, shining and prismatic. The wind whipped at their manes, singing in their ears.

Hoof in hoof, the two mares gazed out at the dusky, shimmering sky.

“It’ll be yours again someday,” Twilight whispered. “I promise.”

Dash nestled her head against the unicorn’s, sighing contentedly. She was in pain; she was far from healed, both mentally and physically, but right then she did not care. Soon, she would have to talk about her mother, of why she could not find it in her heart to forgive the mare who had given her life for her daughter, but right then it did not seem to matter.

Even the sky did not matter; she was not afraid of losing it any more. As long as Twilight promised her the sky, she trusted that she would find it again, but as long as Twilight was with her on the ground, the ground was all the world she needed. 

“I believe you, Twi’,” she murmured, gazing into the glimmering purple eyes of the mare she loved. She turned away from the sky that she had, for the moment, lost. “I believe you…”