Someone Still Loves You

by brokenimage321

38. Dismay

“Fuck you, Rainbow Dash!”

Scootaloo shouted the words—and not for the first time—with the tendons in her neck standing out like wires.

Rainbow skidded around the corner, her half-zipped Wonderbolts uniform flapping uselessly around her.

“What did you say to me, you little brat?” she demanded.

“You heard me, bitch,” Scootaloo spat, as she marched to the front door.

“You get back here this instant!” Rainbow roared.

“Make me,” Scootaloo hissed.

She tore open the front door, then stomped out onto the front porch of the cloudominium. She savagely kicked at the white plastic case on the edge of the cloud, and out spilled a rope ladder, its plastic rungs printed with balloons and clowns. It wasn’t even a proper pegasus rope ladder—it was designed for little earth ponies to escape a house fire. Rainbow had bought it from the baby supply store. Scootaloo scrambled her way down it, trying to ignore the angry tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Rainbow poked her head over the edge of the cloud. “Don’t make me drag your ass back up here!” she snarled.

Scootaloo looked back up at Rainbow. “Don’t you dare,” she growled.

Rainbow blinked, then pulled her head back. Perhaps the fire in Scootaloo’s eyes had actually given her second thoughts.

In any case, Scootaloo swiftly clambered the rest of the way down the ladder, leaping the last few feet down to the grass. She ran towards a small stand of trees nearby, and crouched in the undergrowth around their roots. And just in time—Rainbow appeared on the edge of the Cloudominum with her uniform fully zipped, then took off and started soaring in wide, sweeping circles. Scootaloo shrank deeper into the bushes, and muttered a silent thanks for her little scrap of air cover.

After about fifteen minutes of searching, Rainbow groaned—loud enough for Scootaloo to hear even from this distance—then turned and winged towards Cloudsdale, her unsteady flight path and trembling wings betraying her simmering anger. Scootaloo let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, then gingerly poked her head out of the bush. She looked around hesitantly, then wiped away a tear.

Neither of them knew exactly what they were fighting about. To be honest, it didn’t really matter. Ever since Scootaloo had moved in, a thousand little annoyances had been building up between them, each and every one squashed down in the name of “Getting Along.” The question had never been if they were going to get into a fight—it had always been when.

Scootaloo watched the sky for another minute or two. When it became clear that Rainbow really had left for the day, she emerged from her hiding place, shook herself off, and turned to trot towards Ponyville. She didn’t really know where she was going, nor did she especially care—as long as that ‘where’ was somewhere Rainbow Dash wasn’t.

Scootaloo turned over the events of the morning in her mind as she walked. Try as she might, she couldn’t pinpoint where, exactly, everything had gone wrong. You’d think she would have been able to—after all, she’d complained enough to her friends about it. But, the more she thought, the more muddled it all seemed: Rainbow Dash chewed with her mouth open, sure, but that wasn’t why she’d called her a bitch. On the other hand, Scootaloo had made it clear that, despite the meal Spitfire had cooked for them, she still hated the Wonderbolts and everything they stood for. But that didn’t make her a brat, did it?

And, the longer she walked, the more she started to feel like something left over, something out of place. Everyone around her was getting their lives in order and figuring out where they fit—but, as time went on, it was becoming more and more clear that there was no place for her in the grand scheme of things. Almost like she was a leftover piece of a puzzle. Maybe that’s why she’d been so happy living with Mrs. Harbour: she spent her life collecting leftover pieces like her, and did her best to help them pretend they had a family for a little while.

Scootaloo was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize where she was until she heard Apple Bloom’s cheerful shout.

“Heya, Scootaloo!” she cried. “What brings you all the way out here today?”

Scootaloo jumped in surprise, then looked up. She found herself standing on the little dirt path that wound its way through the Sweet Apple Acres orchards before finally ending at the farmhouse. A few trees away stood the three Apple siblings: Big Mac was hitched to a cart full of dead branches, Applejack was holding a pair of pruning shears in her mouth, and Apple Bloom was trotting brightly towards her.

Apple Bloom held her smile until she came within a few feet of Scootaloo, where it turned to a frown. She stopped and cocked her head to one side.

“Hey Scoots,” she said gently, “you feelin’ okay?”

And suddenly, Scootaloo lunged forward, grabbed Apple Bloom around the neck, and buried her face in her shoulder and wept. Apple Bloom, startled, took a half-step backwards, then awkwardly raised a forehoof and put it around her friend’s shoulders. She turned and looked helplessly at Applejack, who shrugged noncommittally and turned back to pruning branches.

Apple Bloom turned back to Scootaloo and patted her on the back. “C’mon,” she murmured, “What’s goin’ on? You can tell me, you’re safe…”

Scootaloo hiccupped, then swallowed.

Apple Bloom hesitated. “Did Rainbow hurt ya?”

Scootaloo shook her head.

“She takin’ care a’ ya?”

Scootaloo gave a shaky nod.

“Then what’s up?”

Scootaloo bit her lip. “Can we…” she sniffled. “Can we be Crusaders again?”

Apple Bloom looked her carefully in the face. “Scoots,” she said carefully, “we are Crusaders. We helped Rumble a couple a’ weeks ago, an’ before that…”

Scootaloo shook her head. “No—like old times. Just you, and me, and Sweetie—runnin’ around, doing dumb stuff just because it looks like fun...” She pulled back and looked Apple Bloom in the eye, her gaze full of tears. “Can we do that? Please?”

Apple Bloom turned and looked at Applejack again. Applejack held her gaze for a moment, then turned to look at Big Mac, who rolled his eyes and gave a nod. Applejack sighed, then nodded back at Apple Bloom.

“ ‘Course we can,” Apple Bloom said with a smile. She pulled away from Scootaloo’s grasp, then walked back down the path, towards town. “Let’s go get Sweetie, and then find somethin’ ta do. Any ideas?”

Scootaloo shook her head glumly.

“Then let’s just play it by ear,” Apple Bloom said cheerfully. “That’s always the most fun, anyways…”

And, at long last, Scootaloo gave a slight smile.

---

Scootaloo rounded the little stand of trees and let out a sigh of relief. The Cloudominium was where she had left it, and the rope ladder still dangled down from the porch. She still could get home without Rainbow’s help, even though it was past sunset by now. Far past sunset.

Scootaloo trotted to the base of the ladder, then started climbing. Her muscles groaned from the stress of the unaccustomed motion—not to mention, the soreness from all the crusading they’d done today.

(She was reasonably certain that they’d discovered three more activities to add to their standard cutie-mark-earning curriculum—and one they definitely wouldn’t. Either way, she knew Davenport would be in the market for a half-dozen more “NO TRESPASSING” signs.)

But, as she climbed the ladder, she found her mind drifting, not to their petty vandalism or arguable breaking and entering—but a quieter moment, earlier that afternoon. Bored, and wanting a break from their wanton delinquency, they had gone to visit Fluttershy. The idea had been to pop in for some nice tea, maybe a cookie or two… but, as soon as Fluttershy heard the knock at the door, she bellowed for them to get in here and help.

Though Dr. Fauna had a vet’s clinic in town, more than a few ponies brought their sick animals to Fluttershy. In this case, Carrot Top had brought in her dog, Ginger, who was in the middle of giving birth to her first litter of puppies. But something had gone wrong. The puppies were still stuck inside her, and she, herself, was howling in pain.

As soon as Fluttershy had explained the situation, they leapt into action. Apple Bloom, who was often recruited to help the pigs farrow in the spring, ran upstairs to fetch some clean towels. Even Sweetie Belle, who had turned a little green, trotted to the kitchen to wash her hooves. But Scootaloo found herself rooted to the spot, her eyes wide.

The first puppy came out wailing and crying. Fluttershy put it on the blanket next to her mother, and the puppy immediately started inching her way toward her mother. The second puppy came right on the heels of the first. Fluttershy picked it up, pursed her lips, then wrapped it in a towel and set it aside.

As Fluttershy helped with the third puppy, the first one was still crawling. She pulled herself along by her forepaws, her back legs dragging lifelessly behind her. As the puppy drew closer to Ginger’s belly, it started to mewl and whine eagerly. Ginger, who had other things on her mind at the moment, didn’t immediately respond. When she did turn to look, though, her reaction shocked everyone.

Perhaps it was because she was in blinding pain. Or maybe she blamed the puppy for what was happening to her own body. Or she might have just needed to let off some steam before she blew a gasket.

In any case: Ginger, the muscles in her stomach still rippling, turned to her own puppy, snarled, and snapped at her.

“Gingie, no!” Carrot Top cried. Fluttershy yelped, scooped the puppy up in a spare towel, then thrust it, squalling, at the only bystander who wasn’t already occupied—Scootaloo.

For the next hour, Scootaloo held the puppy in her ams. Fluttershy was still helping with the other pups while Carrot Top fretted and Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle hovered anxiously about. But Scootaloo just stood there, holding the tiny, wriggling life in her arms. After the last of the puppies finally came, Fluttershy provided her with a bottle of formula and sat her on the couch next to the window, while everyone else oohed and aahed at the rest of the litter.

Scootaloo watched as the little puppy drained one full bottle, then another. She felt a little guilty just sitting there like that, while everypony else was helping the new family get settled—but, even though she’d barely met the pup in her arms, she felt a strange kind of connection to it. She realized, while Fluttershy was making the third bottle, that they were both alike, Scootaloo and the pup. Both orphans, unwanted by their mothers, left to twist in the wind like last weeks’ laundry.

But, before she could sink too far into her own gloominess, the puppy let out a tiny yap of distress.

Scootaloo looked down, and saw the tiny thing squirming in her arms. It yapped again, and, at the sound, a movement caught the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw Ginger, looking around uneasily.

She should have been resting, after all that she’d just done. But she looked around, not daring to disturb the rest of her litter, but knowing that something was wrong. Scootaloo watched as she, searching for what she had lost, scanned the room, then let out a low whine. She turned to look at Scootaloo, her eyes full of emotions that she could barely name—shame, perhaps? Loss? Fear?

Scootaloo looked down at the pup in her arms, then slowly clambered off of the sofa. She crept over to the blanket where Ginger lay, unwrapped the puppy from her towel, and set her down. Instantly, the pup began to crawl back towards her mother, making her eager little yaps as she did. As soon as she found her mother’s side, the pup began to suckle like the rest, and Ginger leaned over and tenderly began to lick her clean.

That wasn’t the last thing they had done that afternoon. Far from it. But, even as they tried (and failed) to be Cutie Mark Base Jumpers, Yay! and Cutie Mark Urban Explorers, Yay!, that little pup kept drifting through Scootaloo’s mind. Something about the pup and her mother had left her unsettled, her gut tightening like the ground she had been standing on had just given way.

As Scootaloo climbed the ladder back up to the cloudominum, that look in Ginger’s eyes came back to her again—the look that she was still trying to untangle. Why was it bothering her so much, anyways? She was just a stupid dog. Cute, yeah, but a dime-a-dozen at the pound… but what she had seen...

Either way, it was time to face the music. Scootaloo had said some things to Rainbow that she was starting to regret, and Rainbow wasn’t exactly known for letting things go. But she was her mother, as much as Scootaloo hated to admit that fact—and more importantly, she was her guardian at the moment. Scootaloo didn’t exactly have many options, other than just hoping that she could somehow sneak to her room undetected.

(She paused, three-quarters of the way up the ladder, and considered spending the night at Rarity’s—but she knew that Sweetie was already using her guest bed, and besides, she didn’t really feel like going without her toothbrush for the night.)

She reached the top of the ladder and scrambled up on the front porch. She fluffed her wings and let out a sigh—and then, she looked up at the house and blinked in surprise.

All the lights were off. Rainbow hadn’t said she was going to spend the night at Cloudsdale, and yet, she apparently hadn’t made it home yet.

Wait, no—not all the lights were off. Through the front windows, she could see the flickering glow of the television reflecting off the ceiling. From somewhere inside came a tinny scream, followed by a crash. Someone was home—home, and watching an action flick.

Scootaloo swallowed nervously, then stepped up to the door. She gently put her hoof on the handle, turned it, opened it just an inch, and peered uneasily inside. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness—and, when they did, she stared, wide-eyed, at the scene before her.

The television was, indeed, playing an action movie—one of those cut-rate jobs that only seem to come on late at night. However, it wasn’t clear whether Rainbow Dash was actually watching it. She sat on the couch, her Wonderbolts uniform unzipped to her waist, surrounded by a small pile of Kirinese takeout boxes. She was staring at the TV, but her gaze was glassy and unfocused, and her eyes sunken. Rainbow tended to slouch a little even on the best of days, but tonight, it was less of a slouch and more a defeated slump.

As Scootaloo watched, Rainbow picked up one of the takeout containers, and, barely looking at it, poured it in her mouth and chewed listlessly. Stray grains of rice spilled all down her front, across her precious uniform and onto the floor. That morning, Scootaloo would have added the mess to her list of sins, but tonight, seeing the rest of her as she was, the gesture seemed deeply sad, almost hopeless.

A shiver ran down Scootaloo’s spine. As she stood there, watching Rainbow, she saw, for the first time, how alike they were. How the thing they wanted more than anything in the world was to find a place where they belonged. A home, safe and whole, where they could finally find someone they could open their hearts to, completely and totally.

And Scootaloo remembered, once again, the puppy, searching for her mother, and the mother, searching for her pup. Two halves of a whole, helpless without each other.

And, finally, she understood why she couldn’t get the two of them out of her mind.

Scootaloo gulped, then slipped inside. She crept across the floor, hesitated, then hopped up onto the couch. She scooted as close as she dared to Rainbow. Rainbow gave a despondent little flick of her gaze towards her, then turned back to watch the TV.. Scootaloo hesitated, then turned the TV herself.

The two of them sat together in silence for several minutes. Finally, Scootaloo risked a glance at Rainbow.

“This movie sucks,” she said.

For a moment, Rainbow stared at the TV in silence. Then she opened her mouth.

“Yeah,” she said, “it kinda does.”

Scootaloo shifted her weight on the sofa. “Why is the main character so…?” she said, gesturing vaguely.

Rainbow shrugged one shoulder. “That was a thing, back then.”

“Back when?”

“Dunno. Twenty, thirty years ago.”

Scootaloo looked over at Rainbow, then scootched a little closer. If Rainbow noticed, she didn’t give any indication.

At that moment, an especially painful crash sounded from the TV. Both ponies flinched.

“Does he really have to do all that?” Scootaloo asked.

“His name is Brock Li,” Rainbow answered. “The bad guy took his marefriend. Or his sister, or something, I don’t know.”

“And he can’t just… talk it out? Like you and Twilight and everyone does all the time?”

“Nah. Not how these movies go.”

Scootaloo edged even closer to Rainbow. As she moved, she nudged one of the takeout boxes, which fell to the floor with a hollow clatter. Scootaloo froze, then slowly looked up at Rainbow. For all the notice Rainbow took, she may as well have been made out of stone.

Scootaloo turned back to the TV. After another moment, she licked her lips.

“So… is this the sort of thing you usually watch?” she asked.

“It was on,” Rainbow said dully.

“But… do you like it?”

It took Rainbow a moment to answer.

“Yeah,” she said at last.

Scootaloo glanced up at Rainbow again, then inched closer to her, and slowly, ever so slowly, leaned over and rested her head against Rainbow’s side. Rainbow’s short coat tickled her cheek a little, but it was soft and warm. And, Scootaloo realized with faint surprise, she could hear Rainbow’s heart beating: a dull thud-thud, thud-thud through her ribcage.

Scootaloo closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“I like it,” she said.

After a moment, a warm weight draped itself across her shoulder and neck. She opened one eye: Rainbow had put her arm around her.

“Yeah,” Rainbow said, “It’s cool.”

The two of them sat like that for a long, long time.

---

Scootaloo wasn’t fond of waking up with a crick in her neck. Nor did she especially care for the cold, sticky slime that covered half her face. And yet, here she was: a crick in her neck, her face wet and cold, and feeling like someone was pounding out a drumbeat inside her skull.

Scootaloo pried open her eyes. Slowly, the room around her came into focus. She was still sitting on the couch, pressed up against Rainbow. The TV was still on, though the screen was filled with static. Scootaloo leaned her head back and realized, to her horror, that Rainbow had fallen asleep, too—fallen asleep and started drooling. That was drool on the side of her face—Rainbow’s drool.

Scootaloo gagged, then wriggled out of Rainbow’s grasp. She blinked sleepily up at the clock: She wasn’t awake enough to tell what time it was, but even she could tell it was past their bedtimes. Like, way past.

Scootaloo turned back to Rainbow, who still lay slumped down on the couch. She plodded over to her, then poked her with her hoof.

“C’mon,” she grumbled. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Rainbow snorted, then waved her off with one more hoof.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled.

Scootaloo groaned, then grabbed her by one arm. She heaved, and hauled her off the couch and onto all fours. Scootaloo draped one of Rainbow’s arms over her shoulders, and the two of them stumbled to Rainbow’s bedroom, Rainbow muttering incoherently the entire way. Scootaloo got her into bed, more-or-less, then went to wash the drool off her face in the bathroom.

By the time she made it back to the living room, Scootaloo had no desire to go to bed. She was so exhausted it almost hurt, but the rude awakening, plus the cold water on her face, had woken her up enough that she wasn’t ready to go back to sleep just yet. She walked to the television and clicked it off, then looked around the room. She would have sat on the couch, but the takeout boxes, plus the puddle of drool, made that a non-option. The only other place to really sit was the old armchair in the corner, the one that neither she nor Rainbow really used. She wasn’t even sure why Rainbow had it in the first place, but hey—any port in a storm, right?

Scootaloo hopped up on the chair and sat. She squirmed a little, trying to find a comfortable spot, while she let her mind wander. She stared at the darkened ceiling as she drifted through clouds of half-formed memory: of her gleeful adoration of Rainbow, back before this had all began—of the kind face of Mrs. Harbour, the closest thing she’d had to family for so many years—of that first, terrifying night in Cloudsdale—of Rumble, and his kindness that she’d done nothing to deserve, and little to repay—of the horror of the night she’d learned that the mother she’d dreamed idly about was the pony she hated the most—of all the fights with Rainbow, her memories tinged red with anger—of that night in the snow, of Rainbow lying cold and still, and the fear and sorrow that almost swallowed her up—and of the empty hole in her heart, a hole that nothing she had yet found had quite been able to fill…

As Scootaloo’s mind continued to drift, she realized that, even after several minutes of zoning out, she was still squirming. The cushion of the chair was surprisingly plush and deep, but she still couldn’t find a position that was entirely comfortable. Something was poking her in the butt. It wasn’t sharp, not exactly, but it was annoying enough to keep her from really settling.

Scootaloo slid off the chair, then turned and examined the seat cushion. There, in the crack on the left side, she spotted a little blot of pink, almost lost in the floral pattern of the chair. She reached over and pulled on it with her teeth—and, to her surprise, a big, bright-pink envelope slid free from the cushion. It was old and bent—especially on the corner that had been poking her—and had Rainbow’s name written on it in elegant, looping cursive.

Scootaloo frowned, then sat back down in the chair. She turned on the lamp on the end table, then tore open the envelope. Out fell a single, folded sheet of paper, covered in the same looping cursive. Scootaloo unfolded it, and began to read:

Dear Rainbow,

I wanted to tell you again how proud I am of you. As I’m sure you know, I have a talent for reading ponies’ hearts, and I can tell yours has been broken more than most. And yet, you’re still trying to find a way to make things right. Most ponies in your situation would have already given up—but here you are, still trying to save it all. Some ponies would call you stubborn, but not me. I would say you’re brave—the bravest pony I’ve ever known.

Scootaloo sniffled, once.

I want you to know, Rainbow, that everything’s going to turn out alright in the end. And I don’t mean that in those “you’ll make your peace with whatever happens” kind of ways—I mean that for real. You have so much love to give, both you and Scootaloo. It’s not going to be easy. It might take a long time. But as soon as Scootaloo can see what a wonderful, kind, caring, loyal pony you are, she’ll stick to you like glue. And, when you learn to see her for the smart, independent, and brave young mare that she is, you’ll never want to leave her side.

Scootaloo sniffled again, then wiped at her nose.

So stay strong, both of you. Things will work out, somehow. It’s true, and yet, you still have to believe it to make it happen.

If you ever feel like giving up, just remember who this is all for. Remember who’s waiting at the end of the road. And remember how much you want to feel her arms around you.

All my love,

Princess Mi Amore Di Cadenza

The letter fell from Scootaloo’s hooves. She curled up on the seat of the chair, then put her head down. She closed her eyes, and didn’t even try to stop the tears.

---

The next morning, Rainbow woke to the smell of pancakes.

She groggily threw on a purple bathrobe, then stumbled into the kitchen. Scootaloo, using one of the kitchen chairs as a stepping-stool, was in the middle of making a massive stack of pancakes. True, she was speckled all over with pancake batter, and the counter was covered in a fine dusting of pancake mix, but the pancakes themselves didn’t look too bad. Well, most of them.

Rainbow took over and fried up the last couple pancakes herself while Scootaloo wiped down the counters and cleaned herself up. Then, the two of them sat down to breakfast. When Rainbow forgot herself and chewed a few bites with her mouth open, Scootaloo let it slide. And, when Scootaloo ignored the flyer for the upcoming Wonderbolts show that slid out of Rainbow’s morning paper, Rainbow bit her tongue.

The two of them got ready in their separate bedrooms, then met at the front door: Rainbow with her Wonderbolts uniform folded up in the bottom of her saddlebags, Scootaloo with her school books in hers.

“You ready, Squirt?” Rainbow asked, as she opened up the front door.

Scootaloo looked up and stared at her roommate—no, at her mother—for a few seconds before she spoke.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Comments

[Rawislon03]

Look who’s back! Loving the story and I hope we get some more updates this year.

[WorkNLurk]

You know, I'll admit, I was a bit hesitant on the continuation with a different author, but this chapter just proved to me that the story is in good hands. I can't wait for more of this story. Keep up the amazing work!

[brokenimage321]

10774505
The remaining chapters are all written and edited, and will post daily until they're all up. How's that for more updates?

10774522
I was actually pretty heavily involved in the earlier chapters, so I hope that it won't be too much of a tonal shift

[WorkNLurk]

10774587
That's why it sounds so much like the rest. Duh. Forgive me for glossing over that. It's been a while lol.

[brokenimage321]

10774683
No problem a'tall. I know there's a lot going on in the world right now, much less tracking the author(s) of a long-dormant fic.

[TexasDragon1995]

Me: Trying to remember if this story was just as mean spirited as I remembered a couple of years ago...

Literally the first lines: “Fuck you, Rainbow Dash!”

Woah! yup

[brokenimage321]

10776895
hehe... yeah, this story has been kinda mean to some of the characters. But it's getting better, promise!