> Bloodlines
>  by SleepIsforTheWeak
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Upside Down
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He is well over one summer old, and we take him to a specialist in Cloudsdale. The specialist runs some tests, pokes around his wings for a while, and he sits there quietly and unmoving, partially curious and partially cautious.

    He is strangely timid for being our son, all our friends joke, and it is true. He has been easy to raise, very attentive and obedient; we tell him no once, and we usually don't have to again.

    The specialist comes out and tells us what countless others have told us before: He's just a late bloomer, there's nothing wrong with him.

    We thank Dr. Fade and leave, and on the way home, he inquires timidly about why we went there in the first place. The look on his face is that of uncertainty and nervousness, no doubt picking up on your stressed mood. He's good at picking up on emotion.

    When we get home, he starts to trot off before turning his blue eyes back to us, as if asking if we would be okay without him. We smile at him to show that he doesn't need to worry, but we know he sees how fake our smiles are. He nuzzles us both, still worried, and then he disappears into the den.

    You flop down on the couch with an impatient sigh, running a hoof through your mane.

    "Late bloomer," you snarl in a low voice, making sure he doesn't hear you. "My son, a 'late bloomer'. Does this Dr. Fade know who I am?"

    I sit beside you. "I'm sure she does. But maybe she's right; maybe Lightning really is a late bloomer."

    You growl at the suggestion, and I raise my hoof to stroke you in comfort. We sit in silence for a while, listening to our foal play in the adjacent room, mimicking different voices as he creates a dialogue between his toys.

    He started speaking very early, to the amusement of our friends, who had a field day teasing me about his verboseness. As a result of his early development in the field, he has an unnaturally advanced vocabulary for a yearling, and it had been suggested more than once to us that we should enroll him in school early.

    Ponyville's school, that is. A school where he won't be expected to fly.

    "Dashie?"

    "I don't love him any less because he can't fly, Pinkie. I swear to Celestia I don't. He's still everything I could ever hope for."

    Sometimes it amazed me how in-tune with each other we are. I didn't even need to ask the question that was on my mind.

    "He's so perfect,” you continue, “I just... I want him to experience it, experience everything I did when I discovered flying."

    "We'll get through this, Dashie," I say and stroke you again. "It’s just a bump in the road. He'll fly. He'll experience the things you did. I promise. He'll just be a bit older than you were."

    You sniff and nod, and together we speak no more, choosing to listen to his passionate speech from the next room as he continues to play.
    


    He is three summers, and he is joined by her. He cautiously walks into the room and he sees Momma in bed. He follows Auntie Fluttershy as she walks to the bed and she helps him crawl up on the blankets.

    Mommy is there to greet him. She smiles at him. She looks really happy. He likes it when she is happy.

    Momma is holding something, a bundle of blankets, and he feels his curiosity bloom, but he doesn't touch the blankets she is holding even after he hears a pleasant cooing noise coming from them. You were not supposed to touch things that were not yours, and that blanket bundle was obviously Momma's.

    Momma looks at Mommy and Mommy nods at her and then Momma looks at him.

    "Lightning, come closer. I want you to meet somepony," Momma says. He likes the voice Momma is using. She sounds really happy, like Mommy.

    He crawls forward towards Momma and she lowers the blanket she is holding and inside is... is...

    He doesn't exactly know what it is. He looks at Momma for guidance.

    "This is your sister, Lightning. This is Cloudy," Momma says

    "Cloudy?" he repeats after Momma. Momma gives him a big smile and nods at him. He likes Momma's smile, so he repeats the word. He likes words. Words make ponies happy and his mommies tell him he's good at words.

    "Yes, that's right, Lightning Dash. Cloudy Quartz. She's your sister."

    He knows what a sister is. Pound told him that Pumpkin is his sister and that means that he has to love her and protect her. He doesn't know what the word protect means, but he does know what the word love means. Love is the word Mommy and Momma use when they are putting him to bed. They tell him 'I love you, Lightning' and then they kiss his face.

    Lightly, he leans to Cloudy and presses his lips to her cheek.

    "I love you, Cloudy," he says.
    


    His fifth summer has just ended, and Q (as she has demanded to be called) is one and a half, and we welcome not one, but two more into our family. Pinkamena Diane Pie II and Skylar Igneous Dash.

Twins. Neither of us could believe it, even though Twilight tells me logically that the probability of a twin like me to have twins is almost doubled.

I doubt Twilight would be so smug after fifteen hours of labor and the reality of actually birthing twins.

    Neither of the twins look like us and I don’t know why you decided to name one of them after me if she doesn’t even look like me. In fact, out of all of our foals, only Lightning looks anything like us. Or rather, like you.

    Q, you claim, looks like your father. Light lavender coat and golden eyes, but with my mane.

    The twins, however, are entirely products of my side of the family. Diane, as we decide to call her, looks like Marble. Gray body, darker gray mane, and violet eyes.

    Skylar resembles my mother, and I felt my heart split open along the scar lines when I first saw him. Mom’s death was a long time ago, but it still hurt unexpectedly sometimes.

    "Momma?"

    He's home from school, grinning my smile right back at me as he practically skips to the bed. He's small for his age, like you, and, also like you, scruffy and uncombed. He still can't fly very well, but he's not entirely grounded, either. You say he reminds you a lot of Scootaloo.

    The last year or so saw him come out of his shell quite a bit. He's growing up to be like you, something our friends love to point out to us. He's a ticking time bomb of energy, rambunctious and headstrong and fearless. A whirling tornado of affection and clumsy destruction. He's still obedient, but not to a fault. We have to speak a bit more sharply when we tell him he can't do something.

    He climbs up on the bed and kisses the twins and then me, and then he pulls out his homework and starts humming as he does it. He's not the honor roll foal by far, but he does not shy away from learning and never hesitates to ask questions. You say you wished you were more like him when you were his age.

    You arrive with Q, carrying some snacks. Q immediately latches onto him, asking what he is doing. He patiently explains to her that he is doing homework, and she nods like she understands what he is talking about.

You gently steer her away from her working brother with a snack.

I sigh, exhausted, but happy with our growing family and the joy that they bring to me.
    


    He is seven, almost eight, Q is four, and the twins are both just turning two, and you swear up and down, left to right, and every other angle in between that this will be our last foal. Five is enough, you say. More than enough.

    When I give the news to my father that I was pregnant again, he simply sighed and muttered that he had this coming, handing over my hoof in marriage to Rainbow Dash.

    The magical sonography reveals a pegasus female, and you are over the moon at the news, though I see that you try to hide it. Skylar was supposed to be a pegasus, according to the ultrasound, but he wasn't.

    We sit Lightning down first and explain that he was going to get another sister, and he nods distractedly. Already I feel the years slipping away. He's growing up really fast, no longer excited that he will get another sibling like he was when the twins came.

    He's a wonderful big brother, for being eight summers old. Caring and informative, the first to share his snacks and to break up little squabbles between his siblings—of which there are many because the twins don't really get along amazingly.

    He is vibrating in his seat right now, looking around the room. Every year he gets more and more rambunctious, and more and more energized. Your parents tease that you were exactly the same way, and they never really learned how to get a hold of you.

    You clear your throat and tell him that his new sister will have wings like him, and instantly he snaps his head to you in attention, engaged to the idea.

All the things everypony said about him being a late bloomer was true. He did not actually start flying until he was almost six, but once he started, he didn't stop. He caught up to, matched, and surpassed his pegasi classmates, leaving them in the dust.

    By now, our friends have donned a new pet name on him, 'Little Dash', for his likeness to you. Sometimes I get a bit discouraged about his complete lack of likeness to me, but those thoughts are quickly brushed away. Our colt is everything I could possibly want.

    After we let him go, you turn to me and grin. You have been so much happier since he started flying and I can't really blame you. It’s fun to sit outside and watch while you take him step by step through all of your famous tricks. Your grace in the sky was one of the reasons I fell in love with you.
    


    He is twelve and a letter comes in the mail. I pay it no mind at first, but then I see that it's addressed to him, with specialized writing, and that the envelope is thick and cream colored instead of thin, cheap, white paper. I show it to you and as soon as you see it, you snarl.

    "Cloudsdale Flight Academy. I knew sooner or later those flank holes would..."

    He wanders into the kitchen right then, no doubt hearing your outburst. He is still small and has retained his coltish looks while going through the beginning stages of puberty.

    He walks with a swagger and passes his eyes over everything as if it is beneath him, and our friends had been taking bets for years trying to pinpoint when he would get the famous Rainbow Dash ego. Fluttershy won.

    "What's going on?" he asks lazily. He wanders over to the fridge and rummages through it for no apparent reason, because a second later he closes it without having retrieved anything.

    "Um, a letter came for you, Lightning," I start.

    "Really? What's it say? Who's it from?"

    I open my mouth to speak but you cut me off.

    "Cloudsdale Flight Academy," you inform him gruffly.

    "Oh." He tried for cool, but his excitement kept him from reaching that point.

    You never spoke about what happened to get you kicked out of the academy, not even to me, but everypony caught on to the fact that there was bad blood between the administration and you.

    I open the letter carefully, fully aware of our excitable son practically vibrating in the air next to me, looking over my shoulder.
    
    Dear Lightning Tempest Dash,

    It is our most sincere pleasure to extend you the invitation to attend the most prestigious flight academy in Equestria, Cloudsdale Flight Academy. Our scouts have been watching you for a while and think you would be a perfect fit in our school. This is a great honor, and we are excited to offer our advanced training facility to nourish your blooming talent further. If you accept, you will be entered into the graduating class of 5131 E.R. and made into a legendary flier upon graduation. We sincerely hope you accept our offer.

    Sincerely,

    Cloudsdale Flight Academy Administrators

    "Do you want to go, Lightning?" I ask him, praying that you would not influence his decision. The letter got me excited, and I wasn't even the one being invited.

    To my surprise, you stay silent, fuming next to me and staring at the letter with enough hate to burn it.

    "Yes!" Lightning yelps, face splitting into a large grin. "Omigosh, I gotta tell everypony!"

    He is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving air currents behind him and a faint zigzagged rainbow trail.

    I turn to you once he is gone. "I'm proud of you for not saying anything," I say in a low voice, a part of me ashamed that I doubted you.

    You sigh, nuzzling me. "Yeah, well. Maybe he'll have a better time there than I did. We are two different ponies, after all."
    


    He is thirteen and we stand in his empty room. The bed is made, an unheard of occurrence. The walls are mostly bare, stripped of their posters. The desk is clean, absent of the half-filled cups of sarsaparilla that always seemed to occupy it along with crumpled homework and many pictures, and the chair is neatly tucked under the desk.

    I hear a sniff next to me and turn towards you. Your eyes are overflowing with tears.

    "He'll be home in a couple of months, Dashie," I reassure you, gently tugging you into a hug. You shake against me with small sobs, not making a sound.

    Eventually, I feel a nod against my shoulder, and you pull back, dry-eyed. Your break-downs never last long. "I know. I know," you sigh. "I just... his thirteenth summer was two dances ago, and now he's already leaving us.”

    And it did hurt. It was scary. I try to stay strong for you, but find myself unable as a few tears run down my own cheeks.

    Soundlessly, I take your hoof and lead you to our colt's bed and lay down with you, crying alongside you at the bittersweet reality of it all. And when the tears dry, we fall asleep together, surrounded by sheets that smell like him.

 
> First Year (13)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is thirteen and the house is unnaturally quiet without him. The empty place at the dinner table makes everything just that much more painful, because while Dash can distract herself during most of the day, she can't just ignore it when they sit down to eat. 

She looks around the table. They all miss him, she can tell. 

Sue is picking at her food, glancing at his place. She lowers her eyes to her plate dejectedly and folds her ears after seeing it empty. 

Diane has a contemplative little frown on her face as she eats slower than usual.

Skylar is not touching his food at all, staring blankly at the empty place mat. Over the last few years he has grown really close to his brother, and his absence has hit their youngest son the hardest. 

Stormee, their youngest, is flapping her wings slowly with nervous energy, picking up on the mood of the table, unsure about what she should do. 

Dash meets Pinkie's eyes across the table and sees that she also observes their children's moods, and really wants to cheer them up but doesn't know how. 

She looks away from Pinkie, not knowing what to do either.



He is thirteen and the school is really big compared to the one in Ponyville. He doesn't know anypony and has never been too good at just going up to ponies and starting friendships. He is alone, and no pony really likes him because he looks like his mother and everypony knows his mother so they think he will be a show off. 

The mess hall is huge and has seven long tables because there are seven grade levels. The seventh year table is considerably smaller than the rest, and the first year table is the largest. He guesses that this is because through the years ponies are eliminated from the class until a class his size, well over a hundred, is reduced down to a class like the seventh year's, twenty five.

Seventh years are gods. They travel in one pack, all twenty five of them, and everypony gets out of the way for them. The leader of the pack's name is Tornado Blast and he is always at the front.  The seventh years look like robots, unemotional and walking in sync with each other. 

He wonders if he will make it to seventh year. He wonders if he will be the leader of the pack, someday. The thought sends a shiver through his wings.

His classes are all flight related. He tries to pay attention, he really does, but most of the things they teach him are all things his mother already taught him. He falls asleep and is sent to detention. 

At the end of the first week he writes a letter, and fills it with lies about how much fun he is having, and all the friends he is making. He hates lying to his family, but Celestia knows his mother would fly to the school and raise hell if she knew everything he suffers. So he lies. Because it's better that way.
	
> Second Year (14)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is fourteen and home for Heartswarming break, which lasts for a week. He is surrounded by ponies and tries to give every one of them equal attention and be patient, but Dash sees that all the attention is getting on his nerves. He is moody and snappy but tries to hide it.

He finally untangles himself from his siblings and comes into the kitchen, where she is.

"Hey." he says.

"Hi." she replies. She knows he wants to talk about something, but is hesitating, which automatically sends warning bells in her brain. She waits for him to speak, but he doesn't.

"How's school?" she asks, finally deciding to be the one to take initiative.

He runs a hoof through his rainbow mane. 

"Bad." his voice cracks on the word and she looks at him, but finds him not crying.

"Oh? What's the problem?" she asks. She tries not to sound too worried.

"I just... I haven't figured it out. The other ponies, they've already formed cliques and everything. But... I don't have any friends. I'm basically a nopony, even though everypony knows I'm your son. I want to have friends, and I know it sounds selfish, but, I want to be popular. But I don't know how to do it." his voice grows and grows until he is very nearly shouting. There is a whiny undertone to his words and Dash smiles because he is a lot like her when he doesn't get what he want.

"If you want to get popular, you have to make ponies notice you." she says patiently, and she knows  she probably should be saying something along the lines of, 'it's not about popularity, just find your true friends and stick with them', but she understands the feelings he is feeling because she felt them when she was his age, too.

"And how do I do that?" he whines.

"Prove yourself as a flier." she says simply. "Race the ponies in your grade, or, if you want popularity faster, race upperclassponies. That is, if you think you have the talent, which I know you do." 

He thinks about this for a moment, and then nods slowly in that way he does when he takes something to heart. 

"Is that really all there is to it?" he asks after a while, deep in thought. Dash nods.

"Yep. But Lightning?" she calls out to him, bringing him back from his thoughts. He looks at her with those blue eyes of his, and she suppresses the urge to smile at him, because she loves the fact that he inherited Pinkie's eyes.

"Make sure you get the race approved by a professor." she says seriously. "Unapproved races are against the rules, and if you get caught having one, it's an automatic one-way to getting expelled." She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I would know." she mutters.



He is fourteen and back in school and he decides to put his mother's advice to the test. He feels kind of bad for yelling at a pony and challenging him to a race just for bumping into him in the hall, when it was actually his own fault that they collided in the first place.

Regardless, he swallows his guilt and finds a professor. His favorite professor, Blackjack Thunder, happily approves the race. 

He likes Professor Thunder. Professor Thunder is the only professor he has had so far that did not completely hate him. All his other professors are honest-to-Celestia out to get him. More than once he hears them mutter, 'just like his mother' with cynic contempt. 

He steps out into the afternoon sun and looks upon the outside obstacle course for the second years. Every year has their own obstacle course, naturally, and seventh years have two because the seventh years are separated into two groups called Books and Talents.

The other colt is already at the start line, and Lightning joins him there. 

There is a crowd, not a large one, maybe two dozen ponies that just happened to have been using the obstacle course before it had to be cleared off for their race.

Professor Thunder stands on a small cloud and waves a flag for them to get ready. Lightning and the other colt come to the starting line. He looks to the other colt briefly and is met with blazing eyes full of hate. 

He has apparently made an enemy, and it sucks, but it’s nothing compared to the friends he will make after this race. 

Professor Thunder waves the flag again and Lightning raises his wings, getting in a squatting position. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the other colt doing the same. 

Professor Thunder waves the flag once more and then he raises it up into the air.

"Ready. Set..."

This is it. He can feel the adrenaline kick in and he smiles. He will win this race.

"GO!" 
	
> Third Year (15)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is fifteen and Dash can tell school is going much better. He seems happier in general when he comes home for Hearswarming break, and in his letters he raves about all of his victories over his classmates and even some of the upperclassponies. She is thrilled that he is fitting in and Pinkie is too. He has started to send a separate letter to every pony in their family, and stuffs them all in the same envelope. 

She loves the fact that he is reaching out to all of his siblings because while it is not crippling anymore, they still miss him. 

Her and Pinkie get one letter between the two of them, but he splits it into two parts and marks it Mommy or Momma. She loves that he still addresses them as that in private. 

In Dash's part of the letter he usually talks about flying. His races, the things he is learning in school, which are mostly things she's taught him before. He talks about his professors and how they supposedly hate him because he is so much like her, which she believes.

In Pinkie's part of the letter he talks about his friends, mostly. He claims to be friends with a lot of ponies, and they both believe him, because he's actually pretty good at making friends once he comes out of his shell a bit.

They are happy for him, and happy with him, because the individual letters really make a difference in the house. Now instead of sulkily staring at his place mat at the dinner table, the six of them talk about his letters, and it's almost as good as having him there.

Almost.



He is fifteen and being popular is awesome, being the most talented is awesome, and just being him in general is way awesome. He loves school, now that he has ponies to talk to, and he doesn't miss his family nearly as much, but he still makes sure to send letters home to let them know that they are still number one in his heart.

And speaking of being number one. . . he is number one in everything. He kind of wants that on his tombstone when he dies, to let the world know how awesome he is. 

His classes are going really well, actually, now that the professors are starting to take them out and make the lessons a bit more physical. His professors quickly find that he is what they call a 'kinesthetic learner'. They explain that kinesthetic learners learn more by 'doing' instead of listening or seeing. He could have told them that.

Overall, being him rocks. Everywhere he goes, ponies call him by name and some even hoof thump him, for no apparent reason but to touch him. He is known by the majority of the school, but truth is, he doesn't really have close friends. Instead, he has ponies who are friendly with him. 

He chooses to bend the truth and tell his mothers that he has good friends.

He thinks that he went the wrong way about doing things last year. There are quite a few ponies that don't like him because he picked a ridiculous fight with them, challenged them to a race, and humiliated them in front of their classmates. 

But isn't that how popularity works? If there is a group of ponies who like you, you can almost bet that there will be a group of ponies who dislike you, sometimes just for the fact that there are a group of ponies who like you. 

This rule, of course, doesn't apply to his Momma, whom everypony seems to like, and nopony dislike.

At the end of the year, in the last month or so, his class is called to the auditorium. The dean of the school, Dr. Blizzard, tells them that they need to start thinking about what they want to be when they get older. 

At the end of the summer they will be expected to let the school know what three careers they are interested in, Dr. Blizzard explains, and the first half of their fourth year will be spent exploring those careers and they will be expected to choose one by Heartswarming break. 

He sits in his seat and listens to the dean respectfully, while actually panicking a bit inside. Careers? He was fifteen years old! He hadn't even thought about careers! Was he suppose to? 

The dean finishes his speech with a warning that classes were going to get a lot tougher next year and that fourth year is where the Academy began their elimination process. Instantly, the hall is filled with chatter.  

He sits in his seat, not paying attention to the ponies around him, lost in his own panicked haze.
	
> Fourth Year (16)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is sixteen and Pinkie mentions one day that he does not seem at all interested in dating and that she thinks it’s weird. 

"Do you think he has somepony at school?" Pinkie asks her. They are sitting by the fireplace together in a rare moment of alone time. The kids are all scattered, since it's the weekend. 

Sue is with her friends for the night, she left right after school and Dash doubts that they'll see her again until Sunday afternoon.

Diane is with Octave, the son of Octavia, and they are most likely up in his bedroom/studio right now, jamming away.

They don't exactly know where Skylar is, but there is about a ninety percent chance that he is at Sweet Apple Acres with Jasper Apple, AJ and Rarity's youngest child and only son. Jasper and Skylar had been friends since birth, basically, and were completely inseparable. 

Stormee is in town right now, probably causing mischief, because out of all of their kids, Stormee has taken it upon herself to carry on their pranking traditions. They really should keep a better eye on her.

"Dashie?" Pinkie calls out to her after Dash doesn't respond.

"Sorry," she mutters, "Was just thinking about the foals."

"Yeah. They're growing up fast, aren't they?" Pinkie has a sad undertone to her voice that kills Dash inside, because she hates it when Pinkie is sad, even if it is a bittersweet sadness.

"Yeah." she replies, draping a wing on her counterpart. 

"So do you think it's normal that he isn't into dating, yet?" Pinkie asks after a while of sitting under the embrace.

"Probably. I didn't start dating until I was twenty."

Pinkie raises a brow. "Dashie, we started dating when you were twenty." she giggled.

"Exactly." Dash says with a wink, leaning in for a kiss.



He is sixteen and he steps into Dean Blizzard's enormous office.

"Lightning Dash, good to see you." 

Dean Blizzard is an older pegasus with a snow white coat and a short, gray mane. He has a booming, happy voice and smiling eyes. He had been dean of the school for well over thirty years, and a professor before that, and had seen some of the most prominent talents in Equestria walk his halls when they were teens.

Lightning sits down in a comfortable, plush chair in front of the dean's desk. 

"You wanted to discuss something with me, sir?" he asks hesitantly. He thinks he knows what the dean wants to discuss with him, and he dreads the conversation, but he is also a bit excited.

"Yes," The dean comes from around his large desk and sits in the chair next to Lightning's. "You did not provide the school with your three choices of career for this year. Did you receive the list in the mail?"

Lightning fidgets a bit. "Um, yes sir. I... was a bit overwhelmed by it, in fact. I haven't thought anything on what I want to do when I graduate. I don't know where to start."

Dean Blizzard nods at him patiently. "Have you spoken with your parents about this?"

He runs a hoof through his mane. "N-no sir. I have not. I-I think everypony expects me to be a Wonderbolt, like my mother."

"And do you want to be a Wonderbolt?"

"Not really, no. The Wonderbolts are more of my mom's gig, uh, legacy." 

Dean Blizzard nods understandingly. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asks, which earns him a halfhearted shrug in answer. 

"Your mother, as soon as she stepped into the gates of this school, always wanted to be the best. And since the Wonderbolts are largely considered the best fliers in all of Equestria, she fell in well with them." the dean explains. "But what about you? What do you want to do in your job?"

He contemplates the question seriously. What did he want to do? He knew he wanted to fly, but that was natural. He was a pegasus, duh. But there had to be something else. 

"I... I think I want to help ponies." he speaks slowly, still deep in thought. 

"Okay. Anything else?"

"I don't want my talent to be wasted. Like, I know that down in Canterlot, unicorns will pay a pretty bit to be followed around with a cloud to block out the sun, but I don't want to ever do something like that." He decides. "And, I don't want to be a weather pony, either. It seems like everypony works for the weather factory nowadays and I don't want to be a sheep."

The dean smiles. "I think I have the perfect job for you, Lightning." 
	
> Fifth Year (17)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is seventeen and it’s really starting to hit her how old he is getting. She watches him from the doorway of his bedroom as he trots around his room, gathering the things he takes to school with him. He doesn't see her, too preoccupied with his work and lightly singing along to the music blasting from his record player. 

"A fifth year already, can you believe it?" Pinkie mutters to her, having materialized soundlessly beside her in the doorway. It kind of makes her proud that she doesn't get freaked out by that anymore. 

"Yeah," she drawls out. "And legal in a year."

"Oh, don't even say that. I don't want to think about it." Pinkie says without missing a beat.

"Seems like we were picking out his name last week, huh?" 

"You know, it really does. I always thought my father was exaggerating when he said things like that, but seventeen years are gone and I don't even know where they went."

"I can hear you two, you know." his voice, a lot like Pinkie's, cuts through the dark tones of the music easily. He makes no indication that he spoke to them, continuing to neatly put things in his saddlebags and not even looking at them.

They go quiet, not sure how to respond, before he trots over and tugs them both into a gentle, long hug.

"I know what you mean." he says slowly after a while of holding them. "I remember when I was five years old, and mom took me to Rockerfellow for the first time to see Grandpa. I remember when I was eight, and Stormee was flying already and I got really jealous because I didn't fly until I was, like, six. And now look at me." He speaks in a bittersweet, reflective tone and it amazes her how mature he is. A lot more than she was when she was his age. 

Slowly, he lets them go, and then gently wipes Pinkie's tears away and smiles at her. She grins right back at him, and it strikes Dash for maybe the first time how much he looks like Pinkie. Sure, his coat and mane are her own, but the face is all Pinkie's. The eyes and the smile and her cute little nose and round cheeks and wider forehead. 

He turns to Dash. "I'm going to be late if I don't leave soon, and I still have to say goodbye to everypony." 

She nods and lets him through his doorway and into the tiny landing outside his room. His room is in the attic, something he found fitting, since he was kind of king of the hill.

Together, they follow him as he makes rounds, stopping at all of his siblings' rooms. It is five in the morning, so he has to patiently wake all of them up to say his goodbye.

Sue pouts in a very childish way when he wakes her up and tells her he has to go, but she excepts it and hugs him tightly, after which she kisses his cheek. He blushes and rolls his eyes, but doesn't pull away from his affectionate sister, because he knows it does him no good.

Diane opens one bleary eye, annoyed at being woken up, but hugs her brother loosely. She is asleep again before they leave the room.

Skylar is already up, sitting in his room and reading a book by candle light. He gives his mothers an innocent smile when they eye him strictly and inquire if he stayed up all night reading. He hugs his brother and they speak in hushed tones for a long while before Lightning musses his mane and gets up, pointedly pulling the book out of his younger brother’s hoofs and telling him to blow out the candle.

Stormee is really hard to wake up, but once she does, she clings to him. He nips at her ear and she nips back at his playfully and they both laugh identical laughs, before hugging one more time. 

Finally, they go downstairs, where Pinkie stuffs his saddlebags with a couple of apples for breakfast, and out of the house. Dash stands by while Pinkie hugs him tightly for a long time and he mutters reassurances in her ear. Finally, she lets go of him with a sniff, and covers his face with kisses, which he tolerates. 

He turns to Dash after Pinkie steps back.

For a while Dash just looks at him, admiring his face as if this was the last time she would ever see him. His mane is way more untidy than hers ever had been, and it's growing really long in the front. He needs to get it cut, and she tells him that, which only earns her a playful eye roll. She gathers him in her embrace and relishes in his warmth, closing her eyes and breathing him in. After a while she lets go and nuzzles him, which he returns twofold. 

He steps away from them, turns around, and leaps into the sky. He flies a good fifty feet away from them before facing them again and waving. They wave back and watch him take off into the sky, which is only just beginning to be painted with the orange glory of the coming sun.



He is seventeen and two months after he leaves home he gets a letter from Diane out of the blue. He finds this very surprising since out of all of his siblings, he is the least close to Di, but that surprise is lost and replaced with a sickening, cold panic as soon as he reads the contents of the letter.

The trip from the school to his house takes a good hour and a half, but he is at his front door by an hour. The ponies of the town give him questioning looks when he flies through, since everypony and their great-grandmothers knew him and knew he was suppose to be in school.

He quietly walks into the side door, to no avail, because their side door opens into the kitchen and it's afternoon and in the afternoon everypony does their homework in the kitchen.

"Lightning?" Stormee's voice cracks with surprise, and immediately four pairs of different colored eyes snap to him. 

"Lightning! What the buck are you doing here?!" Skylar hisses at him urgently, glancing to the doorway that leads from the kitchen and into the living room.

"I told you to not do anything stupid, damn it, do you never listen?" Diane whisper-snaps at him. 

"You told him? D!" Sue looks disapprovingly at her sister.

"Yeah, I told him!" Diane snaps back, forgetting to whisper. "Because we all knew that he needed to know, and since the rest of you didn't have to guts to send him a damn letter, I did it myself."

He never realized how much his siblings cursed. He didn't even know his siblings knew any curse words, and the big brother in him really doesn't like that they do. 

But an even bigger part of him is extremely worried about is mother and just wants to see her already, so he opens his mouth to dispel the argument his kin have gotten into. 

He doesn't get to speak, because at that moment his mother enters the kitchen.

She looks tired. No, she looks exhausted. She looks exhausted and scared and very stressed. In all of his memories of his mother, he had never, never seen her this bad. Not even when Grandpa died, and that's saying something because she was a mess back then.

"What's going on? I heard–" her eyes meet his from across the room and she closes her mouth with a snap. She looks surprised for a second before her face twists into a livid scowl. "–shouting."

For a few tense moments they stand there, looking at each other. 

"What are you doing here, Lightning Tempest?" he can tell she is mad because she never uses his middle name. Ever. He is more than a little intimidated, but he is even more angry, so he ignores it and focuses on that.

"Why did you not tell me about mom getting sick?" he demands. 

"Because I knew you would do something like this. Who told you, anyway?" she passes her eyes over his siblings, who all shrink under her gaze.

"That's not important," he answers, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Diane relax a bit. "What's important is that you didn't tell me that my mother was sick, and you made everypony lie to me!" he is shouting, he knows, because he sees his siblings wince at the loud volume.

"Lower your voice." she snaps at him, which only serves to make him angrier. He propels himself forward until he is only inches from her face.

"You had no right–" 

His face is thrown to the side and he hears a slapping sound, but it doesn’t immediately register that his mother slapped him because his mother had never, never laid a hoof on him. He wasn’t even spanked as a foal. None of them were, not even Stormee, who really could have used some and still does.

His cheek is burning, but there’s amazing clarity in his brain. He still feels angry, but it is momentarily replaced by a bigger swell of shock. His mouth hangs open and he looks blankly back at his mother.

"You do not tell me what I have the right to do or not do in my own house." she growls out. "Now, get out–" 

His eyes widen in alarm. She was kicking him out?

"–go cool off. Go fly. Don't come back until you can hold a civil conversation, you understand me?"

He nods slowly, relief washing over him. "Yes ma'am."



As soon as the door closes behind him there is a hollow, empty silence in the kitchen. Dash is acutely aware of all of her foals staring at her in shock, not believing what she had just done. She's not quite sure she believes it herself.

She hit her son.

She hit her son.

She's a monster. How could she. . . why did she. . .?

"Don't you all have homework to be doing?" she hears herself croak. 

None of them move for a long time, but slowly yet surely they all trudge back to their seating areas around the kitchen. Sue at the table, the twins on the floor, and Stormee on top of the fridge. Dash had yet to understand why her youngest daughter liked to do her homework on top of the fridge.

Once only the turning of pages could be heard she turns around and numbly walks out of the room and into the living room, through which she takes a right to the hall and into her and Pinkie's bedroom. 

Their bedroom is by far one of the biggest rooms of the house. The other bedrooms are rather tiny compared to it, even Lightning's. The bed is pushed to the north wall, and is an impressive specimen in itself. 

Dash feels her mouth twitch with a reminiscent smile, remembering a time when all seven of them would be crowded in that bed, weathering together the loud storms outside or crowding around her as she read from Daring Do as a part of their bed time story time. That bed hadn't held all seven of them in a long, long time.

She walks slowly to the bed, a bit hesitant to behold the sight that awaits her. 

"What's going on? I heard loud voices." Pinkie croaks from her place on the bed. Dash nods, not looking at her.

"Yes. Our lovely eldest son has returned from school." she informs her wife, forcing the words through thick guilt. She wonders if she should tell Pinkie what she did.

Pinkie's sweaty brow furrows. "He's back? But. . ." she closes her mouth, seemingly not sure what she was going to say in the first place.

"Yes. I doubt he's going to go back, either. You know how he is." 

At this, Pinkie smiles. An exhausted, small smile. 

"Yes. Every bit as loyal as you, and caring as me." She winces in pain and the tiny smile falls off her face. Dash stares at her for a long moment.

"I. . . I. . ." She closes her eyes, not able to bring herself to say it. Pinkie drops her brow in confusion, no doubt about to ask her about her hesitance, but a knock on the door interrupts her.

"Come in." Pinkie doesn't take her eyes off her, not until the door opens, admitting him.

His cheek is already swelling and bruising slightly, and she bites her lip, wondering how Pinkie is going to take the news after all. He enters slowly, with a small, nervous smile on his face. Dash looks away from him and focuses on her wife, who grins largely at their firstborn.

"Lightning. Come here." Pinkie croaks at him, and seconds later Dash feels him beside her. She focuses on Pinkie harder, and wonders if it is a healthy or good thing that she can't even look her son in the eyes and apologize. 

"What happened to your face?" Pinkie touches the bruise lightly, eyes full of concern. 

"I hit him." 

There. She said it. She owned up to it. She's a monster.

Pinkie's eyes flash to her, but there is none of the anger or shame that Dash expects in them.

"To be fair, I. . . kind of deserved it." Lightning jumps in, and finally Dash looks at him. He smiles at her; a tiny, apologetic smile. She presses her lips together in a thin line.

Pinkie hums in something like agreement. "We all need to get slapped from time to time. But, what are you doing here Lightning? You're supposed to be in school."

He rubs his neck, looking away at a large framed painting of the seven of them that they had done about a year ago. 

"I. . . uh, I was worried about you, Momma." His voice hitches. "And, um, Di sent me a letter. . ." he turns back to look at them, tears pouring down his face. "A-and I just. . ." he gestures feebly. "I came to help. I'll do anything. Everything, everything you need to get better. I'll take care of everypony, fix dinner, wake everypony up in the morning to get them to school. Make sure they do their homework. Everything."

He inhales shakily. "I know. . . I know I'm probably going to get kicked out of school for this, but, I don't care. I need you better. I'll finish school at Ponyville if I have to. Just, please don't send me back. I can't stand to be out of the loop and helpless."

Dash thinks he has more to say, but he doesn't get to do so, because Pinkie throws her forelegs around him in a tight embrace, shushing him quietly as he cries into her shoulder. She stands off to the side for a second, just looking at the two, before motherly instincts kick in and she joins her wife, draping her wing on him. 

He pulls away once his tears subside into sniffles and rolls his eyes. "Celestia, I'm such a wimp."
	
> Four Part Intermission
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The progress is slow. He hates slow with every fiber of his being, but Mom tells him that things like this take time. Things don't heal overnight. He grumbles and scowls but he knows she's right.

True to his word, he does everything in his power to help. It's utterly exhausting, but the progress of Momma's condition propels him forward onto another morning. 

The only obstacle he faces is his youngest sister. 

He never realized, maybe because he is never home, how much of a hoof full she is. She's only eleven years old, but is clever beyond her years, too clever for her own good, really. He quickly learns that she takes unimaginable pleasure in stirring shit in every way possible. Spreading rumors, pulling pranks, and getting in brawls at school. 

In a normal situation he would call on his mother for help, but his mother is not available nearly ever because while his Momma is getting better, she is far from being healthy. 

Frustrated, he goes to Sue. 

"Stormee's really difficult." she tells him in a patient, warm voice that degrades on his already frazzled nerves.

"Yeah. I noticed." He growls out, putting his face on the table. Moments later he feels a hoof run through his mane softly.

"I think . . . she's trying to figure some stuff out. About herself." Sue says quietly. He snorts.

"What kind of stuff?" 

There is a pause, so long that he looks up at his sister.

"What kind of stuff?" he repeats, now slightly worried.

"You can't tell me you haven't seen it, Lightning." She says quietly, looking to the side, and all of a sudden he feels like the biggest idiot ever for not realizing it before.

"Oh." is all he can manage, wondering why he didn't see it sooner as being the cause of her difficulty.

"Yeah. It can't be easy on her." Sue seems like she's thinking out loud. He only nods.

"Do you . . . do you think I should talk to her about it?" He really doesn't want to, actually. Discussing things like sexuality is not his field at all, since he doesn't know the first thing about it himself. He's not even sure he knows anything about the actual act of sex, having been whisked away to school before his mothers told him the first thing about it.

Sue looks really torn on her answer. "I don't know, Bolt. You could try, I guess. But expect a lot of denial and rolling of eyes. Probably some choice words and gestures too." she muses. "I don't know what you'll accomplish, but at least try and get it through her head that we love her either way.’Cause, you know, that's true."



He takes a very deep breath, hovering outside Stormee's bedroom door, stalling for time. He wonders if he's the best candidate for this, since once again, he knows nothing about these things. 

But if he can't do it then who would? His mothers would know everything about it, obviously, but he doesn't want to trouble them with it. And by the time they come around to it, he's pretty sure it would be a bit late. 

Sue is like a mother to the rest of them, even him, but he's pretty sure she knows about as much as he does, since she's kind of a free spirit. 

The twins are too young to know anything about it, really, but Skylar probably did. He was always reading about everything. But how far could books get him, seriously? Either way, Stormee and Skylar did not get along very well. There would be no way.

No, no, it had to be him, he decides. He was the eldest. He was the stallion of the house. He had this. There was nothing he couldn't do. 

Spurred on by his ego, he knocks on the door. On the other side, the music is turned down and hoof beats sound against the floor. A moment later the door opens, and Stormee stands in the frame.

"Hi." he greets, all ego-spurred courage gone in a millisecond under his sister's stare.

To anypony who didn’t know her, Stormee was intimidating. She had a way of looking at ponies, very coldly and very calculatingly. Flatly, one might say. Her eyes were beautiful, the only one of the five of them who had inherited the rose color of their mother's eyes, but they were piercing in a way that made ponies shrink under them. 

He found himself doing the same, looking away from the orbs and focusing on a spot on the wall. 

"Yes?" Stormee finally speaks, clearly reading that he wasn’t going to continue the conversation. 

"Can we talk?" he squeaks, and immediately frowns at his frightened voice.

"About?"

"Um."

The silence hangs between them, and he squirms under the x-ray gaze his sister is giving him. He unfolds and folds his wings nervously. 

Finally, Stormee turns around and walks back into her bedroom, leaving the door opened in a clear invitation for him to follow. He takes extra care in closing it behind him as Stormee walks to her unmade bed and drops down like a ton of rocks. He finds himself being x-rayed by her stare once more as he looks around her room.

He has only seen it once before in broad daylight, and that was just a glance. Stormee was the very essence of private, marking her space as her own and glowering at anyone who came near it. He had never even seen the inside of her personal grooming area, and he was damn sure no pony else had either, and they lived with her. 

The bedroom is mostly grey—every shade of grey. On the walls, all the different shades of grey overlap, and it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to notice that the reason for that is because the walls are covered in the depiction of storm clouds, dark and heavy with water. One of these storm clouds is letting out a gigantic, white rod of lightning that goes from ceiling to floor and is partially hidden by her bed; so that it looks like it’s striking her while she is asleep.

Huh. Clever.

Her room is neat. Almost as neat as Skylar’s, which surprises him. Everything is organized and labeled, almost to the point of being unnecessary. 

"Well?" Stormee sounds, no doubt ultimately growing bored of his evaluating her room.

Celestia how do I begin this?

"Um. Storm. Listen." he curses himself. Come on now, he was a master of words! He could talk faster than he could fly, and that was pretty fast. Where was his annoying verboseness when he needed it?

"You’re boring me, Bolt." she states matter-of-factly. 

"Celestia, I'm just gonna come out and ask it. . . Storm, are you gay?" 

Silence. Utter silence. Stormee blinks once. Twice. Three times. Four. 

Shock looks foreign on her, he muses.

Minutes go by. Neither of them speak. More minutes. Stormee just sits, reclined on her bed, staring at him blankly.

"Look. It's fine if you are. Nothing wrong with that. I just wanted to know." he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from her frozen person.

And still she doesn't speak. She is not a pony of many words, but he seemed to have completely muted her. He guesses this was about the best he could hope for. At least she wasn’t throwing things at him and telling him to get out. Yet.

"Um. I'm just gonna leave you to think. When you’re ready. . ." a barely there nod is his only answer. He nods back and turns around.

"I love you." the words rise from his throat for some reason, just before he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t hear her response. He wonders if there was one.



The winter was his favorite time probably ever. There was something enchanting about it. It brought ponies closer together, reunited families. Reunited his family. The Wonderbolts got the winter season off, since ticket sales suffered during it since no pony wanted to sit in a freezing open arena for two hours plus, and flying in cold air was dangerous to begin with. Therefore, his mother got to come home for winter. 

School obviously let out for winter during Heartswarming, so that brought the rest of them home too. 

Winter swept away the worries. It was like a time when the world around you slowed down and froze over to be worried about later. 

With this winter came the full healing of his Momma. She was back to them, strong as ever in her spirit, but weak in flesh from two months of being completely bedridden. She tired easily and her muscles were barely there, but she was healthy on the inside and that’s what counted.

But the winter was not all joyous. The winter brought an envelope, reminiscent of one that was given to him some five years ago. Thick, cream colored, with his name in over-the-top fancy lettering. It sits on the kitchen counter, unopened, and he sits in front of it, staring at it. 

He can guess pretty accurately what it is. Of course, it could be nothing else. He is surprised it took them this long to send it. He could only guess dean Blizzard pulled strings for two months in order to hold it off. But the strings had eventually been cut, and now here the envelope was. 

"Staring at it will not make it disappear, bro." Stormee voiced, and of course she would be the one to break to silence. 

"I know." he sighs, but he continues to stare nevertheless. 

"Just open it. We all know what it is." Skylar huffs.

"Yeah. Since we all know... wouldn’t it be easier to just throw it away?" he counters, and he knows he sounds pathetic, but for once he doesn’t care.

"Take as long as you need." his Momma whispers. 

"Throwing it away will be like running away. Come on now." Di reminds him, and she's right. He breaths in deeply, but doesn’t reach for the envelope.

"Do you want me to open it?" his Mom mutters, trying to sound convincing.

He shakes his head and then puts a hoof on the thick paper. He rests it therefore a long moment, then closes his eyes and pushes it away from him, sliding it to the other end of the table to the only pony who hadn’t spoken yet.

"Sue. Please."

Sue looks up at him and nods just barely, and then opens the envelope. “Dear Lightning Tempest Dash,” she reads in a clear but shaky voice. “This letter is sent to inform you of your expulsion from Cloudsdale Flight Academy due to excessive absence. If you would like to schedule to plead your case to the board, you may do so. Have a wonderful rest of the school year.” Sue looks up from the paper. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Stormee snaps, outraged. “‘You’re expelled, but have a great rest of the school year’?”

“‘You may also present your case to the school board.’” Skylar mocks, just as outraged. “They’re treating this like court!” 

“Are you going to do it, Bolt?” Sue asks quietly, peering up at him. 

Dazed, he shakes his head. He knew what was in the letter, of course he did, but it didn’t lessen the sting. 

“No. Everypony knows that dealing with the school board is a waste of time.” He says, because it’s true. “A friend of mine, his father died halfway through the year last year and he was gone for a few weeks and they expelled him too. He tried to plead to the board and they would have none of it.”

He gets up, then, frustrated with his family’s pitying looks. “I’m heading to my room.” He mutters. “Don’t call me for dinner. Good night.”



A month later, overflowing with general sulking around the house and avoidance of the prying, caring eyes of his family, there comes a knock on the door during dinner. 

For a short second, they all stare at the door like idiots, but then Stormee flutters quickly to it and opens it. 

“Ummm.” He hears coming from her mouth before she steps aside and lets the newcomer through.

His eyes pop open when dean Blizzard steps through the threshold. His mane and neck is covered by a matching set of brown woolen hat and scarf, but otherwise nothing else. He nods to everypony before taking his hat off and shaking frost from it. 

“Evening, Mrs. Dash.” He nods to Momma. “Rainbow.” He says in a formal tone to Mom, who gives him a tight-lipped smile.

And then his grey eyes focus on Lightning. “Lightning Dash.” 

Lightning bites his lip, a mixture of anger, confusion, and respect swirling in his stomach. “Sir.” He says hesitantly, standing up from his seating as one is supposed to in the Academy when in the presence of a teacher or other such respected figure. Or seventh years.

Blizzard waves him down. “No, sit, sit. I’m in your home. No need for formalities such as that.” The dean speaks fast, almost nervously. 

Stormee returns to the table, eyeing the dean carefully. 

“Anyway, Lightning,” Blizzard continues, “I’m here to inform you of your readmission to the Academy.”

Faintly, he hears the small gasps of his family from around the table, but they are muted because his head feel like it’s under water. His heart pounds harder, as if throwing in it’s own opinion and wanting to be heard. 

“Um.” He says, because it’s the only thing he can say right now. His tongue feels heavy and dry. “What for?”

Blizzard cracks a smile, no doubt at his lack of speech eloquence, but it’s gone in an instant to be replaced with an uneasy look as the old stallion rubs the back of his head. 

“You’re more popular than you think you are,” he says, “a lot of your classmates—I don’t even know how they got a hold of the information—but they heard you were kicked out. Hasn’t been a peaceful day of classes since. They’re rebelling, refusing to go to classes; some didn’t even come back from Heartswarming break. It started in just your grade, but its spread.”

He wants to laugh, because he highly doubts that this is true. Ponies didn’t do things like that except for in story books. He’s also not sure he wants to return to the academy, if this is an offer. He’d frankly much rather spend time with his family than be glared at by professors and have to practically bow every time a seventh year walks by. 

Blizzard continues, “The board is being stubborn, but the school’s loosing funding by the parents of a lot of the students. They’ll cave any day now and send you a reacceptance letter.”

He grits his teeth, becoming irrationally angry the more Blizzard continues to talk. “I don’t know if I want to come back, sir.” He says carefully, failing to keep the venom from his voice.

The dean looks at him for a short moment and then nods. “I understand.” He says simply. “And I will not stand here and tell you that you need Cloudsdale. Your mother is proof of not needing a state-of-the-art education to be successful.” The dean stops his solemn speech there, and puts his hat back on, now wet from the melted frost.

“Think about it, Lightning.” 
	
> Sixth Year (18)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	He is eighteen. Finally legal to do… most things. Dash would be lying if she said that it didn’t make her nervous, but Pinkie assures her that their colt is mature enough to not go getting into a ton of trouble. 

He’s back in school, now. Had just left for his sixth year the night before, and once more the oppressing quiet settles over the household without him. She wonders, just for the tiniest of seconds, if she was right to encourage him to go back. 

She brushes the thought off, of course. He was close to—one year away from—being one of the proud graduates of Cloudsdale Flight Academy and she hates to admit it, but that school was factually the best flight school in Equestria.

In other occurrences, it’s her and Pinkie’s twenty year wedding anniversary. AJ and Rarity, and Fluttershy and Mac agree to take in their foals for the weekend while the two of them go to the Crystal Kingdom.

The trip is spent mostly in their room. In their bed.



He is eighteen and in his sixth year. The final frontier. 

Sixth year is called the Flush Out Year. Classes are top of the line—easily five hours of homework every night. One absence of class is an automatic fail. 

He is a nervous wreck. All year, he has had no down time. He’s absolutely burned out. Many times he complains to dean Blizzard about the workload during their weekly lunches together, and the old stallion simply smiles and says it will all be worth it when he reaches seventh year.

Before Heartswarming, they have a five hundred question exam on which they are to score in the margin of eighty percent on. That’s four hundred out of the five hundred questions that they have to get right. Or else. 

Heartswarming comes and goes and he holds his breath, too nervous to do anything fun with his family. But the letter telling him that he didn’t pass the exam never comes. 

Second semester starts. 

His group of well over a hundred in the first year has shrunk to something like fifty. The professors murmur around them, and the day they come back from Heartswarming they are called into the auditorium and formally told by a proudly smiling Dr. Blizzard that their class has the biggest post-exam count ever recorded in the school’s long and proud history. 

Classes are called off for sixth years for the first three days back, as reward.

“Hey, LD.” 

He looks up from his textbook, which he was only pretending to read, at the sound of the voice.

Holy Celestia…

Dancing. Breeze.

Curves and slick feathers and blue eyes and Celestia does she smell amazing when she walks by him. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he takes a generous sniff, drawing the attention of several ponies in the library with him.

He watches Dancing Breeze make her way into the back of the library and spread her homework out. 

Oh right. Fifth year.

This is what he has been doing with his three free days. Practically stalking a pretty filly in the library. Regrets are for the uncool.

Dancing has a coltfriend. Of course she does, or else everypony would be on that flank. Lightning had never met this coltfriend of Dancing’s but he does know that he can fly circles around whoever that lucky bastard is. 

He smirks to himself and nods, getting up from the comfy armchair near the fireplace. The comfy sofas and armchairs are usually only reserved for the seventh years but, well, he’s Lightning Dash. Heh.

He nearly slithers to Dancing’s table. She’s humming a small melody as she does her homework, and he feels his heart warm.

So cute. 

“Oh, hey, LD.” She catches sight of him as he sits next to her and she smiles. “How are you? Enjoying the three day break?” 

Oh yes. Very much. 

“Very much.” He answers easily, not at all the way he does in his head.

It’s weird. Before last year, his thoughts about the opposite gender had always been appreciative, but in a detached and rather observant way. Something had changed in him, somehow, and now he was totally perving.

He frowns and shakes the thought out of his head. “How’s your coltfriend?” he asks Dancing.

Dancing talks at length about her coltfriend Solar Star. Solar Star. What kind of colt’s name was that?

Nevertheless, he listens attentively only to find that Dancing is completely smitten with her coltfriend. 

Whatever. 

He’s not a relationship wrecker. He couldn’t live with himself if he even thought about trying it. 

So, begrudgingly, he turns his thoughts into the friend zone and the two of them chat until Dancing has to go to her last class. 

They have dinner that night, and breakfast the next morning, and before he knows it, they’re friends.

That’s good, because he still needs some of those. Where was his fanclub? Didn’t Blizzard tell him that the school rebelled because he was expelled? Or had he dreamt that? Everypony treats him the same way they did before he left!

…Whatever.

At the end of the year, after final exams, there is a big race. Another Flush Out event, no doubt, since only the sixth years are made to participate. He remembers going to a race like this every year in the past as it was required of them. 

The race is simple—from the academy to the tip of the Canterlot Mountain and back. A straight loop. Fifty miles there, fifty back. No problem.

The groans and whimpers of fear from his classmates tell him it is a problem.

They take off at the starting line in the heart of the academy. The whole school cheers for them, some even holding up signs. He spots his name more than once. 

The sky is clear, and the sun just at the right angle for flying, as if set that way by Celestia herself. They take off and he quickly pulls ahead, as if breaking through a barrier. He flattens his body, almost gliding, if gliding was done at speeds he’s going.

He closes his eyes for just a second, simply feeling. Feeling the wind caress his mane and brush his fur, feeling his wings beat steadily and push him to the limit of his speed threshold. Even the tight suction on the flight goggles thrills him, as does his constant need to press his lips together to keep them from peeling back at the speed.

Flying.

This is it. This is all I want.


	
	
> Graduation 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Here we are. Huh. Thought it would be encrusted in gold or something.

Rainbow Dash frowns at the simplicity of the door she faces. 

It’s just wood—nice wood, mind, but still wood. And painted white. Nothing decorates it except the brass number 24. 

She shrugs and knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

She can’t help it. Her smile stretches at the sound of his voice from the other side, and she slowly pushes the door open.

“Woah.” Stormee gasps from her place behind Dash. “Bro, your room is huge! I thought dorms were supposed to be small.”

He is nineteen and in his final year. In his final hours of his final year.

They are here for graduation. 

He sits at a vanity on the very far side of the room, watching them as they slowly shuffle in and look around the impressive dorm room.

Stormee is right. The room is ridiculously huge, and has barely any furniture. There is a thick, fluffy carpet under their hoofs that stretches the entirety of the floor space. It’s in the color of cream, with not a single blemish on it. The giant canopy bed is pushed against the right wall, wearing bed sheets the color of the bright blue sky. A mahogany desk, absolutely overflowing with school books, sits on the other side of the room, pushed up against the left wall. There is a door right next to the desk that is slightly ajar, revealing a darkened bathroom.

He gets up from the vanity and moves to them. “Hey.” He says on a breath, his face splitting on a smile.

Pinkie tucks him into a hug first, and then Dash wraps him into one too. Sue also pulls him into a hug.

“Are you ready?” Pinkie asks from beside Dash once their eldest daughter releases him.

“Much as I’ll ever be.” He mutters.

“Don’t be nervous, Bolt.” Stormee drones lazily from her place sprawled on his bed. “It’s only graduation. You should be glad you’re getting out of this dump.”

“But I have to speak.” Lightning whines. 

“Never been a problem for you.” Diane teases, leaning against the dressing table. 

He pouts. “When is everypony else coming?”

“Apples should be here within an hour.” Skylar grunts absentmindedly from his place at Lightning’s desk, peering into his brother’s books. “Jasper said Opal’s bringing stuff to ‘make you presentable’.”

Stormee cackles from her place on the bed. “You’ll be the best looking one there. Absolutely marvelous.” She mocks.

“And you’ll be in the doghouse if Opal hears you say that.” Diane smirks at her younger sister.

Dash leans back against the wall next to the door, content to watch her kids bicker casually.



He grits his teeth in pain as his mane is tugged so hard that he wonders why it’s not coming out in clumps yet. 

“Ow!” he hisses. “Would you stop that?” he growls at Opal.

He hears a sniff, and then another pull makes his eyes water in pain. “It wouldn’t be painful if you sat still, Lightning.” Opal tells him lightly.

“I am sitting still!” he says. “You’re still mad about that one night I brought you back after curfew, and you’re taking it out on my mane!”

“Please,” Opal sniffs. “I don’t hold grudges, darling.”

“You lie!” he argues, whimpering at the hardest pull yet. “Maybe I shouldn’t take you anywhere ever again. All you did that night was make out with Stormee.” He grumbles after the pain subsides.

Opal does not reply. They sit in silence for a while, punctuated by whimpers from him every now and then when she pulls a bit too hard. 

He doesn’t even know what she’s trying to make his mane do. Aren’t there other things she could do to it and make it look good without balding him?

“How are you guys, by the way?” he asks quietly. 

“Good.” Opal answers, with a good deal of genuine joy seeping into her voice.

He fidgets a bit. “My sister, uh,” Celestia this was awkward. “Is she treating you… you know… proper?”

Opal hums. “She is, believe it or not.”

“I do.” He says, and he does. “She really likes you.”

They fall into another silence, shorter this time. Opal is being gentler now, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the fact, relaxing for the first time since she came in and shuffled everypony out in order to make him presentable.

“How has your year been going?” Opal asks him, and he grins immediately.

Celestia, where does he start? 

Blizzard had not been exaggerating when he said that seventh year would more than make up for the hell of sixth year. 

Seventh year was almost boring in its simplicity and general lack of responsibilities that they had. They had two classes every day that only lasted an hour each, and almost never gave homework. They had a gigantic dorm room all to themselves, did not have to get permission first to do things on campus. They had special privileges like no curfew, and the best seating in the house at every assembly, race, and extra-curricular activity.

At the beginning of the year they were called in for a special seventh year assembly that was mainly constructed of them being showered with praises for reaching the final year and outlining all of their many privileges. 

Dean Blizzard then talked about the long standing tradition of selecting the two students who had persevered all six years—one in the department of aptitude, and one in the department of academics. These two individuals were awarded the highest of honors and were granted the titles of Talent Marshal and Academic Marshal, respectfully, and were required to speak at graduation—the same way a valedictorian and salutatorian might.

“This buildup is so unnecessary.” The mare next to Lightning had grumbled, but good-naturedly. “Everypony knows who the Talent Marshal and Academic Marshal is in our class.” She said, nudging him in the side with a knowing smile. 

And it was true. He did know that he was going to be awarded Talent Marshal—he had gotten a letter telling him as much two days before the beginning of the year. 

But regardless of his prior knowledge, his stomach still swooped excitedly when his name was called as the year’s Talent Marshal. 

“Lightning?” Opal inquires softly, jolting him back to the present. 

He’s grinning like an idiot, he knows, but he doesn’t care. 

“This year was great.” He says.



He shifts uncomfortably in his seating, resisting the urge to touch his mane. Opal had brushed it out, coming away with quite a few clumps of several-year-old tangles, and then cut it a bit shorter in the back, before finally slicking it away from his forehead and absolutely drowning it in some sort of spray that made it feel like rock. 

He would never admit, but the fact that he could see much clearer now without his mane blocking his vision was an added plus. As were the wolf whistles from his classmates. 

He might have to rethink his manedo in the future, if this kept up.

He shifts again, glaring up at the bright, hot sun as it mocked him from its place up in the sky. 

So bucking hot out here.

He turns his glare on the article of clothing he is wearing. 

Stupid suit.

It was a handsome suit, nevertheless. Ivory colored and relatively lightweight, with a cerulean tie and a golden tiepin. 

Ivory, cerulean, and gold—school colors.

He rolls his eyes. 

Lame.

At least he got a mace. Maces are cool, right? 

His mace looks cool, at least. Decorated in bumpy, tiny jewels and with the circular seal of the academy on the flanged end. It’s small for a mace and kind of heavy, but he can easily carry it. It stands next to him, one end sealed into a specialized compartment in the ground so that it can stand on its own without him holding it up.

He’s not the only one with a mace, of course. The Academic Marshal—a stallion named Guiding Light—has a mace too, and so does dean Blizzard. 

The ceremony is boring, so far. The dean talks for a long time about the school and its history, and then the mayor of Cloudsdale comes forward and drones on in her boring voice about pride and tradition or some other crap like that. 

His wings shuffle, aggravated that they are pinned by the seat’s back and can’t flap like they want to to relieve him of his energy. 

He sighs under his breath and scans the crowd. He’s long since located his family, of course: huddled near the front along with the Sparkles, Apples, and some of his mother’s Wonderbolt teammates. 

He’s too far away to tell what they are doing, but he’s sure that Athos and Aramis have wedged Porthos between them—he smiles at the clever analogy. Opal and Stormee are undoubtedly sitting together, probably cuddling. Sue is probably with Knight Sparkle—they are dating, after all, as Stormee had informed him this morning. 

He makes a mental note to have a talk with his sister’s new coltfriend in the very near future.

He tunes back into the ceremony in time to hear Blizzard introduce the Academic Marshal—again talking about the tradition to have one, and then a bit about Guiding Light as a student. 

Guiding comes forward, unrolls his parchment, and thanks everypony for being there before starting his speech. 

Lightning resists the urge to groan very loudly and extensively, because Guiding Light is almost as boring as the mayor was. The Academic Marshal’s voice is high and shaky, and he pauses several times to glance back to his speech, no doubt because he forgot what he wrote.

Amateur.

Lightning smirks a little, finding pleasure in the fact that he himself had always been a master of words. 

Guiding Light finishes his speech, much to the thinly-disguised relief of some, and then dean Blizzard comes forward and Lightning licks his lips, all ears.

“The Talent Marshal,” Blizzard begins in a formal tone that does nothing to hide his pride. “Is defined in article nineteen, section B, as being ‘a pupil of outstanding aptitude in the overall ability of flight, as well as a deep rooted natural talent and ability in all of its different components.’”

The dean pauses then, and looks up at the crowd. “The young stallion that wears the title of Talent Marshal this year is more than a simple ‘pupil’ to me, fillies and gentlecolts. He is a dear friend.”



“From the moment he stepped into my office at the beginning of his fourth year, I knew that he was special. He has not disappointed. Academically bright, beloved by his classmates, a leader amongst his peers—” 

“Guys.” Stormee leans across Opal's lap to murmur to her siblings. “The dean has a stallion crush on our brother.” 



"—Lightning Tempest Dash is an exceptional member of this year's class. He has broken several school flight records during his time with us. We did not let him know this, of course, in order to preserve his ego."

"Good move on their part." Skylar snorts.



"Overall, he has been a joy to have under my tutelage, and next year will not be the same without him here. So, without further ado, I present to you this year's Talent Marshal, Lightning Tempest Dash."

He gets up from his seat to the appreciative roar of the crowd, and pauses at the applause, soaking it all in. It's kinda cool. He could see why his mother got high on this kinda stuff. 

It's not for him, though.

His speech is unrolled, not needed except for general appearance. He's long since memorized it from the many, many practice sessions he's had in front of his vanity. 

Nevertheless, he places it on the podium and then smirks at the still roaring crowd.

Yeah. Definitely kinda cool.

Once they settle down, he clears his throat and smirks. 

Now, what most ponies didn't understand about speeches was that the most enjoyable and memorable ones were usually humorous. Humor never took itself seriously, and neither should the pony that makes the speech. Just because you're up in front of a crowd of some seven hundred ponies, doesn't mean you need to make a hugely impressive speech. The fact that you're up in front of a crowd instead of sitting in it already made you totally more awesome than them, so why ruin that awesomeness by being boring?

No reason.

So, instead of reading the speech in front of him—which is already full of amazingly cleaver puns and jokes that made him out to be the totally witty and remarkable pony that everypony should already know him to be—he simply speaks from the heart.

"You know, most of my speech was full of lighthearted bragging and totally funny jokes, because that's kind of what's expected from me." he begins in a strangely uneasy voice which surprises him. "But considering Dr. Blizzard already made me out to be the totally awesome pony I am, I figured I would simply speak from the heart."

The crowd laughs a little at his playful admittance to his blatant and frankly joking self-promotion, but inside he's scowling. 

"I'm not gonna lie to you, I have no idea what I'm doing up here." he admits, and his voice sounds weak to his ears. "Not, like, the 'make a speech' part—I've always been really good at talking—but the 'Talent Marshal' part." he stops there for a second, lets the information sink in. His heart was taking over his mouth. At the end of the speech he would probably be in tears.

"Yeah, okay, so I'm really good at flying—but seriously, look at who my mother is. And my family might say, 'but Bolt, you totally didn't fly until you were like six' and yeah, I didn't. I had a late start. And at this point you will think that because of that I had to work extra hard to get to where I am today. 

You're wrong. I didn't work extra hard. I just advanced unnaturally fast once I started. I'm seriously nothing special." 

The crowd is silent—it's that awful heavy silence that he hates with everything he has. Nevertheless, he straightens up with a confidence born of spilling his secrets.

"Classmates," he addresses, staring them straight in the eyes, one by one. "In life, we will start at the bottom. Being an adult will often times feel like the worst decision-that-we-never-made ever. I know this because my parents totally complain about it always." he ads the last part in a jokingly exasperated voice, and the crowd visibly relaxes and laughs. "And I'm not going to be some stupidly optimistic foal and tell you that 'if you stick with it, it'll get better' because that's not the world we live in.

You'll fail. Maybe you'll even have to change jobs. I don't know. I can't see into the future. But I do know that in life, you'll fail, and you'll fail a lot. Why? Because you're not perfect. I'm not perfect, as hard as it is to believe." He smiles briefly, but it's weak and fake. "Point is, I'm not going to stand up here and give you a falsely inspirational speech, and encourage you to 'chase your dreams' and 'never give up', because who cares what I say? You'll forget most everything I say in two days tops." his voice is strong, not exactly shouting but not exactly calm either. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. His next words are weary.

"So like I said, I have no idea what I'm doing up here. The, the only thing I can say is, try and enjoy life, okay? Don't take yourself too seriously. After all, your voice is the one you hear in your head the most. Make yourself smile with a clever joke once in a while. Treat yourself to dinner—Celestia knows how many times I've taken myself out on a date on Friday night. The fact that it was simply 'cause nopony would do it for me will not be mentioned. Listen to music too loud. Party every night if it makes you happy. Make sure to always eat cake, or candy, or something sweet. In my extensive research of the subject, I have found that ice cream fixes everything."

Another laugh. His classmates were grinning at him now.

"But mostly," 

Pause for dramatic effect.

"Mostly, you should stop listening to me talking about nothing, and finally get on with your life."



Graduation is a huge deal.

Two hours after the actual graduation, he stands in the middle of the school's dinning hall. Except, the dinning hall is not at all the dinning hall he remembers. The seven tables are no longer present, leaving a massive room where guests can mingle. There's a huge buffet table on the left side of the room, long and stuffed with everything a pony could possibly dream of in terms of food. He eyes it, feeling a tiny bit intimidated by the sheer mountain of food.

He shifts in his tuxedo, hating the scratchy material. 

A ball. 

So.

Lame.

Indeed, due to some long-standing tradition, the graduates had to attend a formal ball as part of their graduation. During the ball, they had to dance with everypony in their family or some other strict crap like that.

He rolls his eyes. 

Well, there were certainly worse fates in life, he guesses. 

Besides, he was a totally awesome dancer. Why not tear up the dance floor and show everypony how good he was?

Nevertheless, through out the night, he barely has any time to gather his bearings before he's whisked off into a dance by one of his family members. By the end, he's pretty sure he's dance with everypony at least two times. He knows he's danced with Stormee four times.

His hooves frankly hurt, but he can't quite keep the smile off of his face. 

"Hey, LD." a voice calls out to him through the crowd of sweaty ball gowns and tuxedos. His ears rotate towards to voice, and then so does him head.

"Guiding Light." he greets somewhat weakly. The other stallion smiles greatly at him.

Guiding Light looks frankly ridiculous in his tuxedo. It's plaid and all the colors clash in ways that make Lightning's eyes hurt, even without any sort of fashion sense at all. 

"What's up?" He asks, taking his eyes off of the ridiculous assemble.

"Well, after the ball, there's another party. Some of the guys wanted me to invite you."

And this was what he didn't understand about Guiding Light—total nerd that he was, he had a ton a friends. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Wasn't Lightning himself supposed to have a lot of friends? 

Whatever.

"Yeah. Totally. I'll be there."

Maybe it didn't really matter. Point was, nopony hated him. He was loved by his family and admired by his classmates. So what if he could never be at the top of the food chain? He had just graduated from the most pristine flight academy in all of Equestria. How's that for top of the food chain?

It was done. He was finished with the academic horror.

And life? Life was pretty damn okay.