Two Halves, One Whole.
There are a lot of things people think about Flash Sentry.
If you're inclined romantically, you focus on the good looks, his easy charm, and the unusual mystique of being a band's lead singer. Academically? While not the top of his class, the young man's drive and discipline have led him to certainly hang in the big leagues. Then there's the social side of things, which is always difficult to measure in one's formative years. In that, too, Flash succeeds; he's a go-getter, always ready to lend a hand, yet never too eager or needy to come across as desperate for attention. The refurbished muscle car is a big help in that department, too.
What does Flash think of himself?
Flash thinks he's a simp, in both definitions of the word.
There's blessed silence as he enters the simple two-bedroom house. It's a sleepy suburb, but even so, he has little time or energy to deal with a well-meaning but overworked mother. She's been even more protective since the Fall Formal and the 'unexpected gas explosion' that interrupted the night. He loves her (you don't break a kid's jaw in fourth grade over nothing) but sometimes it can be a bit much. He's all she has though, so in a roundabout way, he understands. Doesn't make it any less irritating though.
Threadbare carpet and old wooden stairs creak under sore feet, track having most definitely kicked his ass today. He really wasn't built for endurance running, a fact that wasn't helped by coach Spitfire deciding that Rainbow Dash lapping the entire class obviously meant they needed more practice. Short bursts? Definitely. He was a monster in the fifty-metre dash, and not too shabby at baseball. Anything longer, though, and he tended to fizzle out; 'Flash in the pan' hadn't exactly been a great nickname in middle school, and he'd rather it didn't follow him to high school.
Plus, Dash wouldn't shut the fuck up about Twi-
“Hmph.”
Some of his dad's old philosophy books had come to be quite useful recently. Mix that with some garbled therapy from Snapgab and a heaping, definitely-not-toxic dose of 'It is what it is' and you have a surprisingly healthy mental state.
Sort of.
A pleasant chill from the drafty bathroom bought some clarity to the young man, he'd been running on autopilot and practically forgot why he was even in there. Shrugging his shoulders (more out of habit than to any perceived audience) Flash mechanically washed his hands, a rote performance ingrained by concerns over whatever muck a parent expected their child to bring in after a day in the great outdoors. There was still the big question though, what were his plans for this evening?
He was flying solo till around nine-ish, the factory liking to drag things out for as long as possible. Not great for his Mom, but it gave him plenty of time to just relax, get a bite to eat, and make a start on his hom-
“Gahk!”
Flash stumbled backwards, fire roaring into life in his chest. The terrifying feeling of constriction and swallowed coals overpowering the comparatively mild pain of falling into a bathtub. Agony could barely describe what it became though. Every nerve in his body was alight, the switchboard of 'Flash Sentry' not so much being used as it was having an axe repeatedly smashed into it.
Then nothing.
Shuddering and gasping, his breath slowly returned to his body. This blessing was followed by the immediate urge to void his stomach, a ruthless, incessant, nauseating drumbeat in his guts. With phantom pain still running throughout a shocked system, he lurched forwards, desperate to reach the toilet. Just a minute too late, however.
Sitting in his filth, the teen lets out a low moan of frustration. The day was just getting worse by the second.
“Hey there, lover.”
The voice is all rasp and fire, gasoline being poured on a livewire with a side order of irony. It's not so much heard either, but felt. Felt deep within Flash's mind, and his very soul.
It was also expected.
It still pisses him off.
Thirty minutes and the quickest, hottest, shower he could run later, Flash entered his bedroom. It would be easy for an outside observer to follow, a copious trail of drips were left in his wake despite the large towel currently wrapped around his body. While his outer self was clean, the inner self was certainly mired in something toxic, the phrase 'piss and vinegar' being the best description for his current mood.
“Well, well, well. All clean for me Flashy? I'm very touched.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He snapped, never looking back to his bed. It wasn't the best way of dealing with the situation, but he was busy digging through the shabby chest of drawers for something, anything, to cover up his nudity.
“Aww, did somebody have a rough day at school?”
With a growl and some mild difficulty, he managed to slide a pair of boxers on without dropping the towel. A brief note of respect was raised for the few girls he knew could do similar or more impressive feats. This was ruthlessly dismissed though as he spun to his bed, the target of his ire nestled snugly there.
She was tall, probably seven feet at a guess. Height was always going to be difficult to measure accurately when the girl's boots were fused to her body. She towered over him though, no argument there. The width was even more of a problem. Sure, she was slim, with an almost over-exaggerated hourglass figure prominently displayed, but then you had to consider the bat wings. Her otherworldly features didn't end there, crimson skin, black sclera, glowing blue pupils, the list went on and on. The real problem wasn't that his bedmate was a demon, though. Oh, it was worse, so much worse.
She was his ex.
“I had a perfectly fine day at school Sunset,” Flash began, mock solemnity followed by the grinding of teeth. “I'd just prefer it if you waited until I'm ready for you. At least warn me for fucks sake!”
“Well...” She shifted to her stomach, kicking obsidian heels out in a playful gesture, a flirty eye on the eighteen-year-old clad in naught but a towel and his boxers. “It was just getting so hot and stuffy up in there, I had t-”
“This? I'm shutting this the fuck down.” He disappeared momentarily before returning, a pink fluffy robe covering every inch of his body.
“Ugh, you're such a spoilsport, Flash.”
“And you're a bitch, babe.”
Faustian pacts, Flash idly noted an hour later, tended to have benefits. Something tangible. Gold, glory, power. The usual sort of vices that had plagued mankind since a special sort of ape realised that by standing in just the right kind of way they could reach the fruit easier. Considering the migraine building deep in his skull, he'd obviously got a bum deal.
“I can't do this!” His fingers began massaging an aching scalp, not quite where the pain began, but close enough that the illusion of relief was tangible. “These... colours, they're just everywhere.” He glanced once more at the textbook, its pages a riot of lurid and violent pastels in constant motion.
“Yeah, all that loose magic sucks, right?” his roommate answered, a snide giggle barely concealed as she plucked slowly at Flash's guitar. Despite their unwieldiness, her slender claws produced a hesitant-but-serviceable tune. "Just imagine seeing it all the time without my help.”
Eying his (literal) hellish ex-girlfriend with a look that could kill, the teen returned to his book. It was a nightmare, each minute feeling more like a year as he attempted to look past the errant energy, desperately hoping that if he squinted just right-
“Ugh, this is sad. Outta the way loser, let mommy show you how it's done.”
It should have felt painful; it had certainly looked it the first time she'd 'taken charge', a simple experiment in hair styling shifting to a horror show in the bathroom mirror. Yet with five crimson razors sank wrist deep in his skull, each sliding in smoothly as if his flesh was no more than still water, all Flash could feel was a peculiar sense of wholeness. Like a puzzle that was finally reassembled.
It was... nice.
“A 'please' would be appreciated,” he mumbled, any natural irritation at the demon's actions betrayed by the soft, satisfied, tone of his voice.
“And I'd appreciate not having you as a roomie, but what's a girl to do, eh?” Sunset said, talons wiggling softly as she strummed on an entirely different sort of instrument.
“What indeed,” he sighed, returning to his book, the beautiful-but-noisy sparks of rogue magic fading to nothing.
“Help... me...”
It was barely perceptible in the cool night breeze. Just a whisper in the ether; one amongst the many howls of city life. Yet still, he heard it. Perhaps it was a sign of madness? His life had so quickly unravelled into a cliche-driven cartoon that snapping wasn't unreasonable. He was sitting outside his high school at midnight, his heart was in knots, and he desperately, desperately, wished the angelic princess he'd so briefly crossed paths with would step back through the solid stone plinth he'd been staring holes into.
“Someone... please... help... me...”
Again that voice. Familiar, yet not. Far, but close. It drew him, more curiosity than anything else, to rise from the cold concrete steps with ears alight for any scrap of it again. It wasn't long before he got his wish, the simple scrape of his shoes on the burnt and damaged footpath setting the noisemaker to life, pained gasps emerging from deep within the crater his ex-girlfriend had crawled from after taking a rainbow to the face.
God his life really had gotten weird.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Taking his curiosity in measure, he crept cautiously towards the magically bored hole. Could someone have fallen into it? He'd been staring over the thing the entire time he'd been there, but then his mind hadn't been focused either. Was it possible for someone to have slipped by his notice?
“F-flash?” Whispered an unsettlingly familiar voice as he finally reached the pits edge, a quick flick of his phone's torch revealing the holes occupant. It wasn't a pleasant revelation either.
Sunset. Shimmer.
...sort of. He'd seen the girl led away by Pinkie and her friends. Yet here she was, the exact same girl, albeit in the form she'd acquired with Twilights Crown. The vile demon she'd been corrupted into, her painful screech of 'ascension' still indelibly marked on his memory. Either way, she was in rough shape. Every inch of her body was covered in painful-looking bruises, with those huge wings of hers slashed to ribbons. Curiously she seemed almost translucent, each shuddering breath bringing the dirt and debris beneath her more and more into focus.
“Flash!” she called again, breaking into a spasmodic coughing fit this time, her body barely holding any opacity.
“Sunset.”
It was blunt and harsh. Quite unlike him honestly. Even post break-up he'd tried to be fairly cordial with her. She may have been... well, a bully, but he always knew there was something underneath that hard shell crying out in pain. Turned out she was just alone and miserable, so wrapped up in her hatred that she didn't realise how alone and miserable she'd been. Of course, he'd tried lying to himself about the bullying, just thinking it was her feistiness. She had a temper, after all. The wool being torn from his eyes by his fellow students, followed by some of the things she'd said to him during the final days of their relationship, had been the turning point though.
“You... you... have to... have to... help me Flash,” a limp crimson arm hopelessly reached skywards, desperately trying to grab at the figure on the edge of the pit.
“No. No, I don't actually.” He paused for a moment, watching as the demon seemingly phased in and out of existence. “I'm no expert, but I think, and tell me if I'm wrong here, you're something to do with that rainbow... right?" He knelt down, getting a closer look at the figure twitching in the hole, "Twilight said something about 'purification' before she left, but when you purify something the waste has to go somewhere. That's what you are, the waste.”
A faint, gurgling laugh was his answer; the sucking noise afterwards reminding him of a broken drain.
“You've... grown a spine... Flash... s'kinda hot,” she grinned, sending an uncomfortable feeling of nostalgia through the teens system. Even with the 'new look' she was still Sunset Shimmer.
“Why shouldn't I just leave you? Let you fade away like the bad memory you are, huh?”
With agonising slowness, the demon Sunset dragged herself to the closest crater wall, propping a rapidly destabilising body up just enough to meet Flash's eyes.
“Think about it... you... you said I'm the waste, right? Well... two halves make... a whole. I'm... I'm the one... who drove her... to be ambitious... to be bold.... to... to love you.”
“You are, aren't you?” He said after a quiet few moments, peering at the broken creature with some discomfort. The Sunset who'd left tonight was different. Quiet, tearful, remorseful. Yet she wasn't the same. The passion behind those beautiful eyes of hers had been snuffed out, seemingly torn away into this... this thing.
“Would you... let that... let us... let me... die?”
What was it Twilight had told them? Forgiveness, redemption, and friendship. All just from one person reaching out in earnest. This thing-no Sunset. She'd had plans, foolish ones yes, but wicked ones all the same. Perhaps this was what she needed? The humbling she'd endure could set this errant shard of his ex down a whole new path in life.
“Of course not.” He slid into the crater with careful wariness, being more than familiar with how dangerous a fall could be. After a quick gathering of breath in the dirt-layered hole, he crawled towards the injured Sunset, holding his hand out for the girl to grasp. “If you thought I'd honestly do that, Sunset, then you never knew me as well as you thought you did.”
The talons slammed into his open palm like a thunderbolt, heat radiating up his arm from the connection they'd made like some kind of otherworldly electrical current. A sinister smirk began to emerge on the girl's demonic visage even as she flickered and faded away.
“Oh Flash, I know you all too well.”