Running Out Of Air

by I-A-M

-And Where

---

Sunset Shimmer

---

Because you’re precious to me.

Why did I have to say it like that?

I thump my head against the hospital’s cheap coffee dispenser that only seems to be able to generate something like thin, burnt, caffeinated tar as I wait for it to fill my cup.

What was that even supposed to mean other than that apparently my primary reaction to stress is to turn into a dramatic bitch. I’m lucky Wallflower didn’t take out a restraining order against me.

Hopefully, she just accepts my explanation at face value.

I don’t really have a good way to explain to her that watching her fade in and out of consciousness for two days without knowing if she was going to wake up for sure was like literal torture. I’d badly underestimated how malnourished she was. I’d been hoping that, worst-case scenario, I could get some canned vegetable soup or something, and she’d bounce back, but she didn’t.

She crashed.

“What am I even doing…” I grumble as I grab at the cup and start heading back to Wallflower’s room.

At least she’s awake.

“Sunset Shimmer?”

I look up at the sound of my name to see Doctor Hazel walking briskly down the hall towards me. She’s a tall, spare woman with a mauve complexion, auburn hair, and a lean face winnowed thin from the stress and responsibility of a lot of long shifts. She’s also the one who’s been taking care of Wallflower since being admitted through the Canterlot General ED.

Witch Hazel works with a lot of Sticky’s cases. Like I told Wallflower when we were going to meet him, he gets the tough customers, and plenty of them have issues that have landed them in the hospital more than once.

Fortunately, I was never that kind of self-destructive.

“Doctor Hazel, hey,” I say wearily. “You heard?”

“I did,” Hazel says with a curt nod. “She’s recovering, which is a good sign, but now that brings up another issue.”

I frown, stop moving towards Wallflower’s room, and turn to Hazel as I take a sip of the unpleasant cup of pitch in my hand.

“What’s up?”

Hazel presses her lips to a harsh line and nods for me to follow her into an empty exam room. As soon as we get inside she carefully shuts the door and turns to me with a hard look on her face.

“Sunset, I’m going to be frank with you, Wallflower’s condition is abysmal,” Hazel says flatly as she holds up a clipboard and starts thumbing through the pages, and it’s about all I can do not to drop my coffee. “She’s drastically underweight, and has been for longer than Sticky’s files claim that she’s been homeless.”

“What…” I swallow hard and straighten out as I meet Hazel’s eyes. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Sticky’s files indicate she’s suffered a pattern of physical abuse.” Hazel doesn’t ask, she’s just stating it, but I flinch anyway. I hate thinking about that. “And her imaging results all confirm what I expected: Miss Blush has dozens of old fractures and several healed breaks, none of which healed gracefully or well, and her BMI along with her blood work indicates that she’s suffered from chronic malnourishment, maybe for years, so her body simply hasn’t had the resources to heal correctly.”

If I had the time and mental space to lose my shit and throw up, I would, but right now I have more important things to do. So instead, I stuff that screaming panic that’s welling up in me into a jar and pitch into the darkest corner of my mental warehouse that I can find as I take a deep breath, and nod.

“Okay, so what can I do?” I ask.

Hazel raises an eyebrow, and the side of her mouth turns up very slightly into something like a smile.

“For one, what’s her current housing situation?” Hazel asks.

I grimace. “It’s not… at least not yet, it’s going to take Sticky some time before she can even be considered for the housing program, and even then it might be months before she actually gets a place.”

“Then you’ll have to forgive me for not sugarcoating this, Sunset,” Hazel says grimly, “but if Wallflower ends up back on the streets, in this weather and in her condition, then she will die.”

So that’s what it feels like to have your heart break in half.

Who knew.

I work my jaw a few times, before letting the tremor of panic pass through me in a shuddering wave as I let out a slow breath in an effort to keep myself from starting to hyperventilate. I can’t do that now. Not now, and not here. That won’t do anyone any good, certainly not Wallflower, and that’s who I need to be focusing on.

“So… she stays with me, then,” I say slowly, my eyes unfocused and staring past Doctor Hazel at a non-existent point on the wall behind her while my mind churns through options. “I uh… I don’t have a lot of money, but I can make it work…”

Hazel’s normally sharp, austere features soften considerably for a moment as she reaches out a hand and sets it on my shoulder.

“Sunset, I realise this is an awful situation, but…” Hazel pauses as she chews on her words for a moment before continuing in a slightly raw voice. “This isn’t your responsibility, you know that, right? You’re barely eighteen.”

“And?” I ask, and I only vaguely register how hollow my voice sounds. “It’s me or nothing, right? She has no home, she can’t get onto the program yet, and if she goes back into the shelter she’ll just end up on the street again!”

“There are other programs,” Hazel offers. “Half-way houses and foster—”

“Bullshit!” I snap, my temper suddenly surging. “You and I both know those places are garbage! Canterlot is a cesspit! She just got out of an abusive home. I'm not risking dumping her into another one! And what foster home would even take in an eighteen-year-old?” I gesture sharply in the direction of Wallflower’s room. “Go on! Tell me the rate for fostering out teens! To say nothing of someone Wallie’s age!”

Hazel draws back and crosses her arms.

“You’re talking about being responsible for someone who very likely does not want to be helped, Sunset,” Doctor Hazel says harshly. “Sticky is going to do his best, he always does, but he told me his read on her, which is that she’s the type who will fight any good will we offer her every step of the way. Is he right?”

I clam up.

Sticky’s dead-on, as usual. He has an uncanny ability to read his cases quickly and with unnerving accuracy, and I’d be willing to bet that Hazel’s description of Sticky Note’s read was probably heavily truncated.

Doctor Hazel didn’t need me to answer, though. She clicks her tongue and sighs, frowning deeply as she looks over what I can only assume are Wallflower’s charts.

“Miss Blush is extremely fragile, but between Sticky and I, we can find her somewhere safe,” Hazel says slowly. “However…”

“She’ll fight it.” I finish Hazel’s thought for her, and the doctor nods. “She doesn’t fight me.”

“Really?” Doctor Hazel crooks an eyebrow at me and I squirm.

“O-Okay, she doesn’t fight me much,” I admit. “And she always gives in eventually!”

Doctor Hazel eyes me carefully for a while, before sighing and nodding mostly to herself, I think. “Well, considering you got her all the way to Sticky Note’s office and signed into his caseload, I have to assume you’re not exaggerating, but let me reiterate this, Sunset—” Hazel jabs the top of the clipboard at me sharply, almost to my nose— “you are barely more than a child, and you’re talking about being responsible for someone who is dangerously weak, are you sure?”

I don’t hesitate for a second. The words are past my lips before even I have a chance to process them.

“Dead sure, Doc,” I say firmly.

Despite not looking fully convinced, Hazel nods and starts thumbing through Wallflower’s charts again before stopping on a set of pages.

“Alright,” she says quietly. “Fortunately, Sticky has you down in his system, and ours, as Wallflower’s primary point of contact, so it will be easy to discharge her into your care.”

“What about my lease?” I ask cautiously. “Can I have another person living there? Or should I ask Sticky—?”

“I already asked,” Hazel says wryly. “The short answer is no, but actually yes. Technically you can’t, but since Sticky is your caseworker he’d be the one investigating, and there’s no way he’d throw the both of you out. So as long as both of you stay healthy and safe, he won’t have anything clap back on him.”

“Tall order,” I mumble, glancing back towards the hall. “So basically if I mess this up, we’re both up shit creek.”

“Sans paddles,” Doctor Hazel agrees. “Are you still sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m sure, just… thanks for telling me the score.”

Doctor Hazel lowers the charts from between us and gives me an odd look. It’s almost analysing in its intensity, and after a moment she lets out a breath and speaks.

“You’re not going to tell Wallflower, are you?” She asks in a tone that tells me she already knows my answer.

“Obviously,” I say quietly. “If she knew she was putting my housing at risk she’d either run or stress out so badly she’d pop. I can’t tell her if I want her to get any better… she has to heal on her own terms, not mine.”

“You’re alright hiding something like that from her?” Hazel asks, her brow inching upward.

It’s my turn to smile back at her grimly.

“I have to be.”

After all, she’s precious to me.

---

---

By the time Wallflower’s discharge comes up two days later, I’ve left the hospital for the first time to make a run down to my apartment and to the little grocery down the street so I had something ready for Wallflower.

My rent is, for all intents and purposes, free, even if the actual building itself is cramped and crappy, so I don’t need to worry about that. Utilities aren’t on that same list, but I had a stipend for that which is also how I pay for my cell phone, so that shouldn’t be an issue either.

An entire other person’s worth of food, however? That might be a little trickier. Especially given that Wallflower isn’t going to be able to eat much.

Soup.

That’s what Doctor Hazel suggested. Lots and lots of soup. Simple broth and soft vegetables at first, then start adding in meat for better protein. Wallflower’s system isn’t up to digesting anything hefty.

I guess soup is easy enough to make, right? The ingredients should be cheap, and if I make enough soup I can probably just eat that, too.

Something cold and wet settles inside my chest as I walk down the grocery aisles.

It’s kind of funny that the most expensive thing for making soup is the bouillon. I hold two different brands that look damn near identical in either hand. Both are round plastic cups that hold three dozen little cubes wrapped in foil, both cups are the same shade of green. One is the store brand, the other is the more expensive brand name, even though I’ve never heard of it.

I scan the ingredients. They’re the same, but the store brand is something like two dollars cheaper. It’ll have to be that, and hopefully the ingredients really are the same. I can’t even figure why they wouldn’t be, it’s just some fucking soup cubes.

Two cups of bouillon go into the plastic carrier hanging from my arm.

Simple and easy… I just need something simple and easy that I can make a lot of, and that Wallflower will be able to eat.

Potatoes and carrots, a dozen of each, go into the carrier wrapped in thin plastic bags to keep them separate. Both are dirt cheap.

I go to the meat section next. For some reason, I’m having a hard time focusing.

Like, a really hard time.

I can’t really account for why, but I keep feeling like a stiff breeze is going to knock me over if I stop moving. My limbs are shaky and there are pins in needles in my palms and fingers.

Not good.

Swallowing thickly, I take a deep breath as I stop in front of the poultry section and stare down at the variety of cuts.

Breast meat, thigh meat, wings… gizzards? Chicken feet? Who in Tartarus makes soup out of chicken feet?! What do you even use a gizzard for?! I look down at the bundle of vegetables under my arm, then back at the meat. The breast meat is more expensive, but there’s more of it. I can probably afford it if I’m sparing.

But is that what I even use to make chicken soup? I don’t know! I’ve never made soup before! I… I just…

A tap at my shoulder shocks me out of my daze and I look up to see a woman with a vaguely familiar face staring at me. Her thick, dark hair is pulled back in colourfully beaded plaits that hang past her vibrant sweater to her jeans-clad waist. She’s a little older than me, with a coal complexion, and I swear I know those dark eyes from somewhere, but I can’t quite place them.

“You okay, honey?” She asks softly.

I blink several times, and it’s only as I do that I realise I’m crying because my vision suddenly blurs as I blurt out: “I don’t know how to make chicken soup!”

“Wuh-oh.” Is all she gets out before I lose it.

On my list of proud moments, I probably won’t be listing ‘that time I bawled my eyes out in the poultry section’.

To the lady’s credit, she doesn’t miss a beat. She just puts her arms around me and pulls me close until I’ve got my face buried against her shoulder while she shoos people away from us.

By the time I’m coherent again, I’m sitting in what I think is the grocery’s employee break room while the woman I sobbed my dignity away in front of sits beside me and runs a hand over my head while she talks to another young man who I think is telling us to take as long as we need before going back to his job.

“I… I’m so sorry about that,” I say wetly as I sit up and wipe at my eyes.

“Don’t be, baby girl, y’just fine,” she says in a softly accented tone. “Guess that answers mah question, though, huh?”

“I uhm, I’m fine,” I say as I catch my breath. “Just uh… it’s been a long week, that’s all.”

She gives me a broad, skeptical smile as she leans on the break room table with one elbow. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve had a couple’a those kinda weeks, and from personal experience, I can say I wasn’t any kinda fine.”

I shake my head and swallow again as I rub at my face.

“I have to be fine,” I say. “I’ve got to… if I’m not then… then she might—!”

A hiccup escapes me along with another sob as I press the heels of my palms to my eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears. It doesn’t help, so eventually, I give up and just wrap my arms around myself as I shake and cry quietly.

The woman waits for several moments until my sobs subside to something quieter, and then speaks up.

“Pretty sure I know you,” she says, her hand still moving in calming motions over my head. “Sunset, ain’t it?”

I sniffle, and nod, then look up and narrow my eyes at her as I try to place her. Files flicker through my mind; faces, names, places, until one of them sticks.

“Cuppa,” I say after a moment. “You’re Cuppa, from—”

“Cuppa’s, ayep.” She gives me a broad smile. “Cuppa Jo, at ya service, baby. You come into my shop a few times a week, one black coffee, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” I say with a weak chuckle. “My uhm… one of my best friends works at Sugarcube Corner near the high school, so sometimes I go there, but— and uh, I’d never tell her this— she burns the coffee a lot, so I try to get my morning fix at your place.”

“My lips are sealed,” Cuppa says with a warm chuckle, that fades as her features turn quietly concerned. “You don’t look so good, baby… what’s wrong?”

“Long story,” I say shakily as I lean forward on the breakroom table. “I just… I think I’m in over my head, but I don’t really have any other choice. My friend is in trouble, and I’m the only one who can keep her safe.”

“Ain’t she got parents?” Cuppa asks, and I scoff.

“Yeah, and the damage to show for it,” I spit grimly.

Cuppa’s features darken immediately, and she nods. She doesn’t question or act skeptical, she just takes it in and lets it go, even if it spoils her mood a little.

“Gotcha.” Is her only real response. “No other friends?”

I shake my head.

“Rough patch, then,” she says. “She stayin’ with you f’now?”

“Mhm,” I mumble and nod. “There’s nowhere else, just a couple of shelters, or worse. There aren't many options.”

“So ya takin’ care of her on ya lonesome, then.” Cuppa frowns, then sighs and nods.

“Y-Yeah, and uh, she can’t eat much right now,” I continue, my voice cracking around my words as I wring my hands. “The uhm, the doctor said soup goes down pretty easy but I don’t know how to make soup… I figure it can’t be that hard though, right?”

“Thighs,” Cuppa says, and I look up at her in confusion. She smiles, though, and nods back towards the main store. “Ya use thigh meat in soups and stews, it’s fattier, and stays tender while ya cook. Breast meat gets all dry and nasty if ya soup it.”

“Oh.”

“Here, hold up,” Cuppa grabs a piece of lined paper from a pad on the tables, and a pen from her purse, and starts marking down notes. It takes her only a minute before she passes the paper over. “Chicken soup, mamma’s recipe, easy as pie.”

I hold it up and look over it. Four potatoes, four carrots, all chopped up, a pound of thigh meat, salt, pepper, and spice to taste, along with a few instructions that are sparse but informative.

“Ain’t cost ya much, and it’s good for ya,” Cuppa says.

“Thank you,” I say wetly. I can feel tears threatening behind my eyes again as I stare down at the recipe. “I… I really needed this.”

“No problem, baby.” Cuppa pats my hand a few times before standing. “Now, I gotta get goin’, but you swing by the cafe, a’right? Bring ya girl too, cuppa tea f’her maybe, and ya coffee’s free f’now, my treat.”

“Wh-What?!” I look up sharply. “That’s—! Why?”

Cuppa raises an eyebrow as she turns back to me.

“Well, I figure ya ain’t gonna have much money left over takin’ care’a her at y’alls age,” She nods down at me. “And ya gotta save every penny.”

“That’s not fair!” I scrabble to my feet, bumping the chair out from under me as I stand. “That’s your business!”

“Damn right it’s my business, baby,” Cuppa says with a flat, unmoving smile. “And it’s my business to say you get one black coffee on the house, along with a piece’a advice—” she turns from the door and leans closer—“that y’all’re gonna need all the help ya can get, so swallow ya pride. It’ll be bitter goin’ down, but everythin’ else’ll taste sweeter for it, a’right?”

I stare down at the recipe she’d handed me sullenly for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“Take from someone with’er own share’a damage,” Cuppa says softly. “Pride’s all well’n good til ya trip over it, now you take care, baby.”

“I… yeah,” I say weakly, wiping at my eyes with my jacket cuff as I do. “Thanks, really.”

“Anytime,” she says.

Then she’s gone, back to her shopping. Eventually, I trundle back out into the grocery toting my carrier of veggies and bouillon and hoping that the people who saw me lose my shit are done with their shopping and gone by now.

Hopefully, Doctor Hazel will have had time to go over everything with Wallflower, about her do’s and don'ts, and how fragile she is right now by the time I get back.

I swing by the meat section again and grab a pound of thigh meat. I’ll make a batch and see how long it lasts. No sense making too much and having it go to waste.

With my purchases tucked under my arm in plastic bags, I start walking up the road to my apartment. I still don’t know if I can do this, but I’m damn well going to try.

Maybe I’ll stop by Cuppa’s on the way to the hospital, though.

Coffee sounds nice.

Comments

[Resurgent Wanderer]

I keep returning to the top to like and favourite but alas tis already a task well completed.

I think what I love most about this tale has to be the fact that taking care of myself and Skirting going through the system was something I went through myself as a kid. Knowing how often things sont with out for kids in real life life, this deelsgoid to see one of the cases it's a good turn out, even if there are hiccoughs along the way.

[Shrinky Frod]

...It's probably a good thing that I want to sit Sunny down and tell her how to make that soup cheaper, but it still feels weird, y'know? (Seriously 'buy it before we have to part it out for salad' rotisserie chicken is a godsend,)

You write characters that are really easy to care about, I think is what I'm saying.

[Gregonator]

this story is soo good. cant wait for the next chapter! take your time though. quality over quantity

[Kagitaar]

Making me tear up as usual.

[Reese]

Thank you, as usual, for writing. :)

[Gay For Gadot]

Wow. The implications for Wally... Poor girl. But if there's someone who'll move Heaven and Earth to help her, it's Sunset. Problem with that, of course, is that not even Atlas is that strong. A human-shaped magical unicorn isn't any stronger than he, no matter what she wants to think.

I wasn't surprised at Sunset's breakdown, nor the time/place it happened; she's far from the first person to have a breakdown at the grocery store. *cough*

Great inclusion of Cuppa. I think you did her accent/speech patterns pretty well. Between her, Hazel, and Sticky, we've already seen just how important the connections Sunset has made have been. I'm sure there'll be more, which is a good thing. Not only does it help out poor Sunset, but the additions of such characters add to both Sunset's backstory and the larger world. Details make a story breathe, after all, and yours seems very real so far.

I will admit that I did laugh at one thing in this chapter—the description of the bouillon cubes. If I didn't already know we lived in the same part of the country, I would know from the way you described the green bouillon; I have that exact brand in my cupboard. It's expensive because you only need a tiny cube for soup, Sunny! It's gonna last a while!

[TamiyaGuy]

Gosh dang, when I mentioned that eggs & hash browns might not have been the best choice, I was thinking she might bring them up again, maybe have a bit of a hypo. I was certainly not expecting a hypo, stress and malnutrition-induced coma and for her to break her sodding nose. It segues nicely into Sunset’s response to stress, though, both in her determination to solve the immediate problem and her emotions catching up with her later on. You balance the pair really nicely in these stories.

Ya know, when I make a comment that later proves prophetic, I do wonder if the thought had been mine at all, or if you’d sown the seeds in prior chapters to make me think it in the first place. Gaslit by fanfiction, what a way to go.

Speaking of sowing the seeds, it’s cute how you work in the feelings that lead to their eventual relationship, while on the surface maintaining distance between the two. While Sunset regrets her choice of words now, with hindsight it’s a sign of things to come.

"…swallow ya pride. It’ll be bitter goin’ down, but everythin’ else’ll taste sweeter for it"

That’s a lovely, standout line, both for seeming really genuine to Cuppa’s character (at least the little shown here) and for being exceptionally relevant to someone of Sunset’s nature.